


A Charlie That Came To Dinner

by NotSteve



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M, idk how to tag this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:15:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 34,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26214697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotSteve/pseuds/NotSteve
Summary: Elsie has her secrets, and they’re all about to come out at once.
Relationships: Charles Carson/Elsie Hughes, Elsie Hughes & Joe Burns
Comments: 88
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! This fic idea came to me suddenly and I just had to jot it down. This is going to be a more relaxed, less developed fic compared to the other one I'm working on. I don't even have a proper title for this, that's how unplanned this all is. Anyway, here's a spur of the moment start of a fic.

A Charlie That Came To Dinner

* * *

"Everybody has their secrets, Mr. Carson." That was what she told him, and he knew very little of her own secrets.

"And... you have your secrets, Mrs. Hughes?" he retorted with his eyebrows raised high and his face as pale as the Grantham ghost the maids all claim to be looming in the attics. If it were anyone else, Elsie would call it some kind of awkward flirting, but Mr. Carson was far from a flirt.

She did not answer. Why? She could not say exactly. He bowed his head as if in shame—and she knew he was thinking of that night all those years ago. Yes, that was another secret of hers—a secret they both vowed to never bring up again, if she recalled correctly—but not the one she most cherished. She thinks of it when she enters his pantry... where their sin was made.

"Shall we get on, Mr. Carson?" she asked, and he cleared his throat.

"Yes, of course," he managed to stutter out as he led her out of his pantry and into the servants hall.

Her letter from Joe came the next day, which was a very dreary morning at the Abbey. Lord Grantham's cousin and heir had just died—and a terrible death it was—on the ship called Titanic. Joe asked her to come sooner than she was expected; two weeks sooner, to be exact. Ivy was now dead and he was having a difficult time adjusting, the poor man. And heaven knows Charlie was no help to him. Perhaps in the field, but not in the kitchen. And dear Peter had gone a year earlier to join the army.

She lied to Mr. Carson about an non-existent ill cousin of hers to get the time off. "Is this the same cousin as before?" he asked her curiously.

That was right. She told him she had an ill cousin the last time she had gone. She could have used Becky as her excuse—and it would have been a valid one at that—but she felt dirty using her own innocent sister to cover up her sins, so she made up a cousin: Beitris Hughes, a sickly spinster in Carlisle—her non-existent uncle's only child. "Yes," she said, "but this sickness seems to be much less urgent than the one before. I should only be gone for a day or two."

"Very well," he said, looking back down at his wine book—oh how he seemed to love checking that thing. "We'll have to manage."

Yes, they all had their secrets—some bigger than others, but Elsie's secrets all seemed to jumble together.

The train ride to the farm was quick and quite uneventful. She sat with a woman and her baby. The baby slept for most of the trip, and both mother and Elsie cooed at it the entire ride there. She had seen the woman a few times in the village, and always at church, so she knew better than to ask Elsie if she had any children of her own. Of course not, the woman must have thought; she was the housekeeper at Downton Abbey. And she would be right. What housekeeper has time for children?

She arrived at the farm in time for afternoon tea. The house was nice and warm, but far from clean. She could see there was an attempt at cleanliness, but with Ivy's noticeable absence it was all in disarray. The kitchen was the worst part of it all: plates and pans all stacked in the sink, empty milk bottles piled up on the counter, crumbs and stains on the kitchen table, and Moose, their very adorable black Labrador Retriever, was licking something green off the floor. Oh, she felt exhausted just looking at it.

"Where's Charlie gone off too?" she asked as Joe pulled a chair out for her to sit.

"Oh, she's somewhere 'round all this mess," he said. He went to fill the kettle with water and placed it on the stove top. "Faye, one of our cows, became ill overnight—she was out with it all morning. She must still be out there."

She hesitated for a moment, before asking, "And how is she? She isn't causing you too much trouble I hope."

He laughed. "No more than usual."

And Elsie smiled. She was a stubborn girl, and she never cared much for rules, but her kindness outshined all of that.

"But," he said, a nervousness in his voice. He sat down next to her—and Elsie felt dread come over her. "I'm glad we've got this time to speak." He slid his hand over to hers. The touch felt so foreign to her, and she felt the urge to pull away, to place both of her hands securely in her lap, but the last thing she wanted to do was offend him—not after all he had done for her. "I'm lost without a woman in my life, Elsie. I can barely take care of myself—much less a child, and a girl at that. If Peter were here, maybe it would be different..."

"You want me to take her," she said—and the thought brought an unfamiliar tingling in her stomach.

"No, no," he said, and she stroked her hand, a foreign gesture to her. "I'm saying I want you here—with us. Elsie, I'm asking you to marry me."

She now felt it appropriate to pull her hand away. "Joe, you know I can't do that," she said. "I have Becky to think about..."

His expression changed for a moment. Perhaps he forgot about Becky's existence, or maybe he thought she might have passed on already. "Well, we can bring Becky here with us," he continued after a moment of reflection. "She can share a room with Charlie."

"Joe—" The front door opened and light footsteps drew near. "This is quite a bit you're asking. I think I need some time to think it all over."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like, I said: these chapters are going to be quick and on a whim. Hope you guys enjoy.

A Charlie That Came To Dinner

* * *

She returned to Downton Abbey without giving Joe an answer. In fact, she rather avoided the topic all together while she was there, opting to focus on cleaning the house and spending a bit of time with Charlie. He brought it back up after dinner, but she in return decided to ask about the sickly cow instead—and they all went outside in the cold to look at it. She tried to also give them tips on how to properly clean a house. Soak the dishes before washing them to make scrubbing away the food easier. Make sure to hang their coats and hats each time they enter the house. Keep your shoes in one spot so that you're not searching for matching pairs around the house. And most importantly, clean up spills immediately after they've occurred. That sort of stuff. Why were men and children so helpless when it came to domestic life?

No one seemed to notice her absence. Thomas had a sly look about him that made Elsie weary. William was kind enough to nod as she passed him in the hall. The girls all greeted her in their usual manner, which was nice but nothing new. And Mr. Carson demanded that she get straight back to work the second she took her hat off. She thought to snap at him, to tell him he was the reason she had gone in the first place—but of course that would not be appropriate.

"Mrs. Patmore has been complaining of Daisy's work ethic," he told her. "She says she takes too long upstairs each morning—and she needs her down in the kitchen sooner to help with the breakfast."

"Well, she is only one girl, Mr. Carson."

"That is precisely what I told her," he said. "She suggested we hire a scullery maid to help her with her daily tasks."

"I don't see any harm in it," she said, "if his lordship agrees."

"My thoughts exactly, Mrs. Hughes."

And they stood silently for a moment—standing an appropriate length away from one another. He mumbled something, as he always did in these awkward moments they shared together, before fleeing back to his own safe haven. He never stayed long enough to say exactly what was on his mind, she noticed.

She got on with her duties as usual—making her rounds, settling disputes, avoiding Mrs. Patmore's wrath—but her mind remained on Joe and Charlie the entire day. She sent a letter that night telling him she would have an answer for him in the next week or so, hoping it was the truth.

Did she love Joe Burns? Of course she did, there was no question about it. But did she _love_ Joe Burns in the same way that Eve loved Adam—or was she as devoted to him as much as Heathcliff was to Catherine? She did not quite know. He had done so much for her in the years since their courtship, far more than she deserved. And Ivy was a great help when she was still alive. Aside from Becky, he and Charlie, and in some small way Peter too, were the only family she had. But did she love him enough to become his wife? She owed the man quite a lot, that much she was sure of, but was that to be repaid in marriage?

She enjoyed a glass of sherry alone with Mr. Carson in his pantry late at night once all the servants had gone up to bed. They never speak of their sin, but it looms around them like Queen Victoria's ghost. And then, of course, there was that twinkle in his eye whenever he looked at her. And the image of that little curl falling out of place when he... Well, they vowed never to speak of that again. She thought of his curl, and the way it moved with him, sometimes at night when she was alone.

Did she love Joe Burns in the same way that Eustacia loved Clym, or Diggory Venn loved Thomasin? She thought to tell Mr. Carson about her dilemma, but that of course would mean telling him all of her secrets—and she wasn't quite sure she wanted to, no matter how much he deserved to know her. So, instead of telling him, she simply sipped the last bit of her sherry and decided it was time for bed.

"I'll say goodnight, Mr. Carson," she told him as she stood to leave.

He stood too, and watched her as she left. "Goodnight, Mrs. Hughes," she heard him say softly as she entered the hall.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not a person that posts a whole lot, but I’m posting quantity over quality to get myself back into writing every day. Do not know how long this will last.

A Charlie That Came To Dinner

* * *

She did not sleep a wink that night. Her mind on many things, but mostly on Charlie. She needed a mother—and perhaps a father too. In a perfect world she could have both, and possibly more. But they did not live in a perfect world.

Ivy and Joe had said they wanted more children—for whatever reason, it just never happened for them. Perhaps Ivy's illness had something to do with it. Charlie needed a home, and Elsie took full advantage of their circumstance. Ivy was a bit perplexed by it all in the beginning, and Joe only enjoyed hearing a baby's cry in his house again. And they hadn't judged her—or perhaps they had, but chose to keep it to themselves.

"Mrs. Hughes?"

It felt selfish—and possibly a bit ironic—to admit but she did not want to marry a man, who wanted a maid and cook rather than a wife... Maybe that wasn't entirely what he wanted, but the other side of marriage also terrified her. She wasn't quite sure she wanted to give herself to Joe, or to anyone for that matter...

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Hughes..."

She looked up, dazed from her thoughts, to find Mr. Carson's large figure hovering over her. She had mixed feelings about the night they shared together, as she was sure he did too—but they had agreed to never discuss it.

"Yes, of course, I'm sorry, Mr. Carson," she said with a slight laugh, hoping to hide her worries from him. "I'm afraid my mind was elsewhere."

She grabbed the papers from his hands, and pretended to read them over—simply waiting for him to leave her room. But his bulky figure did not move, and he cleared his throat to get her attention once again.

"Was there something else, Mr. Carson?" she asked, looking up at him again.

"No. Well—this is hardly my business... but I wonder if you're doing all right, Mrs. Hughes," he asked her. "I've noticed you've been acting a bit... er, different since your return from—where was it?"

"Carlisle," she told him softly.

"Yes, since your return from Carlisle," he said. He paused, rubbing his hands together to fill the awkward silence between them. "Is she doing well?"

Her mind went to Charlie, a slight pain forming in her stomach. "Who?"

"Your cousin," he said. "Beitris, I believe."

"Oh, yes, she's perfectly fine now." He nodded, but his face told her he didn't quite believe her. After a moment she continued, "But to be honest, Mr. Carson, I always worry about her—no matter what state she's in."

Elsie tried her best to keep focus during the day—but thoughts of Joe and Charlie still found their way at the front of her mind. Did she love Joe Burns enough to marry him? It was a question she asked herself when he first proposed all those years ago too, which also worried her...

Daisy was swooning over Thomas, of all people, later that afternoon. Mrs. Patmore, who was bearable in her right mind, tried to sway her away from the lad, for good reason—if the rumors about him were true. William seemed quite a bit interested in her. Though they were all too young to think about all that in Elsie's opinion.

A week had passed and she still did not know if she truly loved Joe, the dear man. He wrote to her again, asking to meet at a public house. He even offered to make the journey up to Downton this time—she kindly declined him, knowing full well she would once again refuse his proposal. She wondered what life might be like had she accepted him all those years ago. Guilt consumed her, as it did the first time around, when she wrote back to him.

She visited the farm on her half day. He would be seeking a new bride soon enough, Elsie knew—after he healed from the wound Elsie had given him. Her visit was as expected. The house was untidy once more, so she cleaned up a bit: washing the plates and putting the sheets out to dry, sweeping the floor. And poor Charlie started to weep once she was forced out of peter's old work clothes and into a nice brown dress Elsie had sewn for her.

"Are you sure about this, Elsie?" Joe asked her softly. "I'll give you more time, if that's what you need..."

She squeezed his hand. "You and Ivy have been kind to me. Far kinder than I have ever deserved, I'm not ashamed to admit." His eyes were sad but they had very little sparkle to them. After a long moment of silence, she told him, "I can only say that I'm sorry."

He remained silent as Elsie packed the rest of Charlie's things. They said their goodbyes to him but they were only met with more silence, and then they headed for the train station, somehow together and alone at the same time.

Charlie cried quietly the entire way back. Elsie truly pitied the girl; she was a farm girl through and through—just like Elsie herself once—and now she was forced to spend her days inside working as a scullery maid. And once again guilt consumed her, or it never left. Life was cruel and unforgiving, that much Elsie knew.


	4. Chapter 4

A Charlie That Came To Dinner

* * *

That night haunted Carson to no end. He felt disgusting, like scum—not for the act itself. That part felt quite nice he must admit. But he ruined her, and so quickly too. She wasn't like Alice; she had bled and wept afterwards, and it happened far too quickly for his own liking. He would have married her. Truly, he would have made it right for her, but she only wanted to put the whole thing behind them. And then she went away for nearly a year—because of him, he was sure of it... and all that he did to her. She was away for so long that he feared she might not return, but she had. Why? He did not know—perhaps because she had no other place to go. She had no family, except for her elderly cousin in Carlisle, and by the sound of her she did not sound very pleasant.

And now she arrived back at the Abbey a bit nervous. Carson felt those nerves as well, what with the new servant and all. The new scullery maid arrived with her and she was quite young—and quite ordinary, if he was honest, like all the other girls coming in and out of Downton Abbey over the years, but there was also something familiar about her. Brown hair, brown eyes, pale skin... Her eyes were red and puffy when she first arrived, which wasn't all that unusual for new girls like her. She was shy, of course, as they always were on their first days. They tend to relax after a week or so, he had observed with the other girls.

"My name is Carson," he introduced. "I'm butler here at Downton Abbey. You'll be working closely with Daisy here. Any questions you may have should be directed to her—or Mrs. Patmore, the cook." He took another good look at the young girl; quite tall for someone her age—Mrs. Hughes had said she was about twelve or so—but she must have felt so small in that moment with all the servants around her, as they all did when a new person arrives. "Now, do you have any questions for me before I get on with my duties?"

She quickly shook her head. They never spoke so early, and they hardly spoke directly to him, if ever. But there was a certain sparkle in her eyes that he immediately noticed. Who was this girl? "Then Daisy will show you to your room." He turned to Mrs. Hughes. "What was her name again?"

"Char—Charlotte," said Mrs. Hughes as they watched Daisy and the maids lead the young girl out of the kitchen and up the stairs. She would room with Daisy—that was where Mrs. Hughes put her.

"She hasn't got any family near here, does she?"

She waited a moment before answering. "Not... not that I'm aware of, no. Why do you ask?" She was tense, as they all were with this new heir—Mr. Mathew Crawley—arriving any day now.

"She looks familiar, that's all," he said, and she shifted from one foot to the other. "I thought I might have known her father, or perhaps her mother..."

"Is that so?"

"I suppose a girl like her has no parents," he said quietly in case she should overhear him. Daisy arrived much the same. And again he noticed a shift in Mrs. Hughe's stance. She must be eager to get on with the rest of her day. Their conversations haven't been the same since... that fateful night. He cleared his throat. "If you need me, I'll be in my pantry, Mrs. Hughes." It was time to get on with his day.


	5. Chapter 5

A Charlie That Came To Dinner

* * *

The day went by like any other. Lord Grantham and his daughters all came down for breakfast. Lady Grantham took Lady Sybil and Lady Edith into York for a bit of shopping afterwards while Lord Grantham and Lady Mary visited Crawley House to see that everything was in order for Mr. Crawley and his mother. They would be arriving in less than a week. They were bringing their own cook and maid—Mrs. Bird, Carson had been informed. But they would need a Butler for the house. Carson hired Joseph Moseley for them, a good lad—a bit jittery at times—but still a good lad. His father lived in Downton, so of course he seemed the obvious choice.

Carson took that time while the family was away to make his rounds. The maids were all upstairs, making up the beds. He found Mrs. Hughes in one of the rooms with the maids. She stopped to tell Gwen and Anna something about the bed, pointing at it as she spoke, and then Gwen went and re-tucked a sheet. Mrs. Hughes stood back to observe the room in it's entirety. Unbeknownst to her, she stood near him and... Mrs. Hughes had a scent about her that Carson quite liked; it wasn't any perfume that he knew of—that sort of thing was not allowed, anyway; it must have been her own natural scent, he determined years ago after a long speculation of what it might be. Satisfied with the girls's work, Mrs. Hughes turned her heel to exit the room—nearly bumping into Carson along the way. He had not realized he had moved so close to her.

"Er, excuse me, Mrs. Hughes," Caron said quickly. She was just trying to get on with her duties and he was in the way. He fumbled a bit before stepping aside to let her pass. She quickly walked out of the room without even looking at him. He heard Gwen and Anna, who no had doubt witnessed the entire awkward encounter, giggle at his foolish antics. Flustered, he quickly hurried away, off to check another room. He found his way back downstairs an hour or so later. Mrs. Patmore was in the kitchen with Daisy and the new girl, preparing lunch.

"That's the sugar you’re holding, Mrs. Patmore," said Daisy meekly, "not the salt."

"Of course I know this is sugar!" snapped Mrs. Patmore. "Do you think I'm stupid, Daisy? I think I can the difference between salt and sugar!" There was something going on with her, he and Mrs. Hughes and both knew.

He opted to stay out of the kitchen for the time being. Mrs. Patmore's lip was lethal, and at times frightening, and he had enough embarrassment for that day. And so he entered his pantry and closed his door behind him and let out an exasperated sigh.

It was on his desk where it happened—it was such a spur of the moment, they had no time to find a proper bed or anything. He regretted his foolish acts... He could blame the wine and he could blame her scent for their sin that night, but in truth it was a great many of things. He wondered if she thought about it as often as he did. Of course she didn't—she was a pure woman with pure thoughts, and she only wished to move on from it. That was what she wanted. But was their _encounter_ an act of love? For him it was, yes... For her, he did not know. But they were foolish and stupid, and he should have proposed to her. God, he should have proposed to her right then and there, when she was lifting up her dress and he was pulling down his... There was no time for past regrets, Carson knew; he had a house to run. And he should just be thankful no scandal came out of it.

Dinner was ordinary, both upstairs and down. Lady Mary kept complaining about Mr. Crawley's visit, as he had to agree with her—she could run Downton Abbey just as well as any man, Carson was sure of it. Perhaps she could do better than this Mr. Crawley. But his His Lordship thought otherwise and finally he snapped and forced them to change the subject. And Mrs. Hughes kept quiet during the servant's dinner. He owed her an apology for their little kerfuffle that morning, that much he knew. Perhaps he would invite her to his pantry for a bit of sherry and a dignified chat later—they hardly drank wine together anymore.

"The new scullery maid is getting on well with Daisy," Anna told Mrs. Hughes.

"I'm glad," said Mrs. Hughes with a nod before taking a sip of her water. Carson's eyes found hers for a moment, but she turned away quickly. He definitely owed her an apology for their little incident—and maybe he should just keep his distance from now on.

"You seem to be taking a special interest in this new girl, Mrs. Hughes," said Thomas in a suspicious tone.

Mrs. Hughes opened her mouth to speak, but the words must have faltered. "Of course she is," said Anna. "We wouldn't want her to be doing her job wrong now would we, Mr. Barrow?"

The young man smiled, but his eyes screamed in rage. "No," he said, "I suppose not." And it was quiet for the remainder of their dinner.


	6. Chapter 6

A Charlie That Came To Dinner

* * *

Mr. Carson asked to speak with her after dinner. Elsie wanted to say no, to say she was too busy to talk—which was partly true—but he was insistent, and part of her did wonder if he caught on to some of her secrets. Maybe he had more questions about Charlie. But, of course, that was not the case at all. He only wanted to apologize for their awkward collision that morning. It was her own fault, really. She was too focused on the girls to notice he had entered the room, and, like a terrible fool, she nearly knocked him over on her way out. They shared a moment of unpleasant silence together in his pantry after his unnecessary apology before she decided to excuse herself from the room.

And then she went ahead and made her nightly rounds, checking up on the girls and making sure they were behaving themselves. Gwen and Anna had already gone up for the night. Miss O'Brien sat at the servant's table sewing up a dress with Thomas Barrow lingering close by her—Mr. Bates, who sat at the table too, was the only one in the room kind enough to greet her.

She found Daisy and Mrs. Patmore cleaning in the kitchen. Mrs. Patmore was in one of her moods, and poor Daisy was in her direct line of fire. "No—don't put those there. They go on the upper shelf!" she told the young girl with a few jars of... something—Elsie wasn't quite sure what it was exactly—in her hands.

"Sorry, Mrs. Patmore," said Daisy quickly, as she turned to put them in their proper place.

"Where's Charlotte?" she asked, looking around the kitchen in search for the young girl's petite figure. And Mrs. Patmore looked up, squinting at her—was she going blind, Elsie wondered.

"Who? The scullery maid?" And she huffed. "It appears Her Grace feels she's too high and mighty to clean with us lowly folk." She turned to Daisy, squinting at her too, and the young girl only smiled to herself.

Elsie felt a pain in her stomach. It was the third time that day Charlie had run off. First it was to the garden to collect some bugs or dirt, or something messy like that, and then she left to take an afternoon nap in her room. The whole thing was quite amusing, she must admit, but not tolerable. "That stubborn girl," she muttered angrily with the shake of her head.

That poor girl, was what she really thought. Charlie didn't want to be a scullery maid; she didn't want to be in service. But what choice did Elsie have? She certainly couldn't go on living with Joe. And she wasn't about to send her to an orphanage. If she had the money, she would send her to some school... But she couldn't afford it, and this was Elsie's only option. If Mr. Carson found out Charlie was ignoring her duties... Well, any sort of punishment done to her would only be Elsie's fault. "Don't worry, Mrs. Patmore. I'll go fetch her for you..."

Mrs. Patmore said something to her as she hurried out of room, but Elsie could not hear her. She passed Mr. Carson and William on her way up the stairs, and she prayed Mrs. Patmore would not complain to him as well.

Daisy and Charlie's room was empty—and she began to panic. Was she in the garden? At this hour? Oh heavens... perhaps she could lie and say she was a widow, find work back in Argyll...

"Are you a Lady's Maid?" she heard Charlie's voice in the distance.

"No—not a proper one, at least," said Anna's voice clearly.

Elsie followed their voices to Gwen and Anna's room. Charlie sat on the bed with Gwen beside her and Anna behind her, braiding her beautiful brown hair.

"I don't understand the point of it," said Charlie. She sat slumped over, like a brutish man who had one too many at the local public house. "I would much rather cut it all off and be done with it."

And cut it all off she did, Elsie recalled. At age seven, she had found Ivy's scissors and chopped all of her hair away. She said she did it to look more like Peter; she idolized the dear boy. Ivy wrote to Elsie in a panic and Joe got a good chuckle out of it. Of course it had all grown back by the time Elsie visited again.

"Oh, but you've got beautiful hair," said Gwen, admiring the strands of hair Anna had yet to braid.

"That's what Ivy always told me," said Charlie, and Elsie's heart sank.

"Ivy? Who's Ivy?" asked Anna.

"She was my—well, she was who took care of me," retorted Charlie. "She died last year..." She paused for a moment, and Elsie watched as Anna pinned up the last strand of hair. She looked beautiful and far too elegant for a scullery maid. Mr. Carson wouldn't like it. "Joe, her husband, couldn't manage me on his own, so he asked Mrs. Hughes to come and take me." That wasn't the truth, but that was what Elsie told her. Would she ever tell Charlie the truth? On her deathbed, perhaps—if she could ever find the time to rest.

Elsie revealed herself to the girls just as Gwen was about to speak. Anna and Gwen quickly stood from the bed while Charlie took her time, glancing at the mirror to see her hair on her way up.

"You're supposed to be downstairs in the kitchen, young lady," she told Charlie sternly.

"Don't blame her, Mrs. Hughes," said Gwen. "Anna and me, we asked her to come up with us. It's our fault, really."

"Is that so?" she said with a raised eyebrow. "Well then, I should remind you, girl, that you don't take orders from housemaids, or footmen—or even chauffeurs, for that matter. You take orders from either me, Mr. Carson or Mrs. Patmore. And right now you're needed downstairs and in the kitchen. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes," Charlie said softly—and it nearly broke Elsie's heart; she was never so harsh with her on the farm, but she was not housekeeper there.

"Go on, then," Elsie continued, a bit gentler now, motioning towards the door. With her head low, Charlie rushed out of the room. "And you two," she said to Anna and Gwen. "You should know better by now..."

"We're sorry, Mrs. Hughes," said Anna. "It won't happen again. We promise."

Elsie huffed. It very well would happen again, knowing Charlie.


	7. Chapter 7

A Charlie That Came To Dinner

* * *

Elsie kept a close eye on Charlie for the rest of that night and early the next morning. She did not have the heart of a servant, that was for sure—but who truly did? Mr. Carson, perhaps.

She watched as Charlie—rather apathetically—set the table for morning breakfast. Her eyes were red and puffy again; it seemed each morning she looked sadder than the day before. And it was all Elsie's fault, she knew. Maybe she should allow her to go into the village to see the pigs later; that might cheer her up a bit... or make her even sadder. It was hard to tell with Charlie.

Mr. Carson sat in his chair at the head of the table with his eyes closed and his head leaning back. He hummed softly to himself just as Daisy entered with the morning coffee.

She grabbed a white tea cup just as Daisy placed the tray down. But when she reached for the hot kettle she felt something brush against her foot. She pulled her chair out and—she let out a terrified scream as something brown or green slithered passed her feet and into the cracks of the cabinet.

Her little outburst startled all of the servants, but Mr. Carson seemed the most terrified for her because he jolted to his feet immediately, and everyone around the table followed him up quickly. "What... What is it? What's happened?"

Elsie's eyes found Charlie's and she noticed the amused look on her face—it was as if all her misery had vanished in an instant. Elsie knit her eyebrows At her, giving her a stern look. And then Elsie realized she dropped her cup when she screamed and it smashed onto the table below her.

"Are you all right, Mrs. Hughes?" It was Mr. Bates who spoke.

She looked over to where the snake was hidden out of sight, expecting it to come out again in full force. And then she turned back to Charlie, who covered her amusement with her hand.

"Yes," she said, clearing her throat. "I'm sorry. I... I really don't know what came over me."

Mr. Carson hesitantly sat back down, and everyone did the same. "Are you sure... you don't need to have a lie down."

Again, Elsie glanced back up at Charlie. "No, like I said... it must have been some sort of fluke. Anyway, I'm fine now."

He only nodded, and then swiftly turned to Charlie. "You there," he said to her, and Charlie jumped at the roughness of his voice—Elsie's stomach twisted. "Clean this mess up."

She quickly fled to the kitchen to fetch a rag or something to safely scoop it all up.

"You could be a bit kinder to her, Mr. Carson," Elsie told him, more harshly than she intended. "She is just a girl."

She looked again at where the snake was hiding. What had that girl done now? Was it even her fault? She did not want to make another scene in front of everyone at the table, but she really did not want to be in the same room as that _creature_. She could not think of an excuse to stand up and leave without causing worry or suspicion, so she simply put on a brave face. Charlie came back a moment later to clean up her mess—and again she apologized for her little outburst.

But when the bells started ringing and Mr. Carson finally left for his pantry, she brought Charlie back into the servants hall to catch the creature. She was always catching snakes and keeping them as pets at the farm—it drove Ivy mad.

"It was tucked in my apron when it fell out," she explained as she knelt to find it. She placed her hand on the floor and the creature slithered out and wrapped itself around her arm.

Elsie shivered at the sight of it. William and Daisy were the only two left in the room, and Elsie knew that they would not blab to Mr. Carson or anyone else about it, so she allowed them to stay.

"It's a slimy thing, isn't it?" said Daisy. She reached to touch it, and Charlie encouraged her, but she lost her nerve at the last second right as the snake stuck out its tongue.

"Is it a garden snake?" William asked.

"Slow Worm," said Charlie. "A legless lizard."

"I don't care what it is," said Elsie. "I want it out of this house immediately."


	8. Chapter 8

A Charlie That Came To Dinner

* * *

Charles Carson was not a man who knew a great deal about delicacy. If he did know that sort of thing, perhaps he and Mrs. Hughes would be together. He might be working at a local shop or some factory, and she might spend her days tending to their house and any possible children they might have had. And he would call her Elsie, not Mrs. Hughes—and she would call him Charles or Charlie, not Mr. Carson.

Mrs. Hughes had snapped at him for startling the scullery maid over breakfast. His voice was a bit rough at times, and his exhaustion only made it worse, but hurting the feelings of a scullery maid hardly seemed an issue. Nevertheless, he decided he would be a bit gentler with the girls that day, for Mrs. Hughes's sake; her outburst that morning told Carson she wasn't quite herself.

The morning went like any other—except the paper was late again. The whole downstairs held their breath as they waited, in case another ship sank, or the London Bridge caught on fire... or the entire world went to war with one another. But no, thankfully it was only the paperboy's incompetence that kept the paper from arriving on time. They managed to send it up with breakfast, and His Lordship and his daughters all had their breakfast without much fuss. The new driver had arrived and he took them all out for a late morning drive.

By afternoon, Carson noticed Mrs. Hughes was even more jittery. He overheard Mrs. Patmore make a comment to Mrs. Hughes about the new scullery maid as he made his way to his pantry—she was a troubled young soul, she had told Mrs. Hughes; the young ones usually were, Carson knew, coming from who-knows-where and doing who-knows-what... He hoped Mrs. Hughes could handle the girl on her own, but he would interfere if things got too bad.

He sat in his chair and let out a soft sigh. Carson really needed sleep, but a butler sleeps as well as a new mother. He closed his eyes, knowing he would not have long to rest.

"Mr. Carson?" And he was back to being butler again. The moment did not last as long as he wished.

"Yes," he said, his eyes still closed and his mind still at rest.

"Does the upstairs library have any books on amphibians or reptiles?"

He opened his eyes, and he turned to the young voice asking him the question. And for a quick moment she looked almost like... He shook the thought away. "I'm sorry?"

Mrs. Hughes quickly entered. "There you are, Charlotte." She looked at Carson before turning back to the girl, her face a slight pink, and he sat up straighter. "You're supposed to be in the kitchen helping with luncheon—honestly, girl." She gave her a gentle push and the young girl hurried away. Elsie looked at him again, but she turned away just as quick as before. Finally, she huffed in frustration and left his pantry without so much as a goodbye.

He didn't see her for the rest of the afternoon, nor did he see the girl—but that wasn't all too unusual. He asked Lord Grantham later if there were books on amphibians or reptiles in the library; he said he didn't know but Carson was free to check.

After the upstairs dinner had finished, Carson, with Thomas and William trailing behind him, made his way downstairs. And still, he rarely saw Mrs. Hughes throughout the dinner—was she avoiding him since their awkward encounter or was he just be paranoid? He did not know.

"There's someone at the back door, Mr. Carson," Anna told him right before he entered his pantry.

"I'll get it," he informed Thomas and William, waving them away to go have a rest in servants hall before their own dinner. Honestly, what maniac rings at such an hour?

He opened the door and a small plump older man stood before him. He wore a gray suit with a matching cap, and his eyes seemed to wander inside the house. "Yes, can I help?" said Carson.

He looked at Carson, almost started, and then he removed his hat. "I... er," he stumbled out, clearing his throat. "I've come to see Elsie Hughes... She's housekeeper here."

Carson felt a slight pain in his stomach. When Carson said nothing—he could not find the words—the man cleared his throat as he extended his arm out. "My name is Burns... er, Joe Burns." Carson did not shake his hand, and after a moment Mr. Burns allowed for his arm to fall back down to his side.

"Joe?" said Mrs. Hughe's behind Carson. And Carson could hear the panic in her voice. "Joe—Mr. Burns, I mean... what in God's name are you doing here?"

Carson moved aside for her to pass him. She grabbed the man's hand and squeezed it tightly, and she gave him a warm smile—and Carson's heart sank. At least he now knew the man meant no harm. He cleared his throat to get their attention, and they both turned to him—perhaps forgetting he had been standing there. "I'll, erm, give you two a moment," he said meekly and he closed the door quickly before either of them could say anything.


	9. Chapter 9

A Charlie That Came To Dinner

* * *

"Why have you come?" Her voice was low, practically in a whisper, in case any maids or footmen—or Mr. Carson—were listening on the other side of the servant's door. She was irritated, embarrassed and grateful all in the same moment. What in heavens made him think to come to the house?

"That was...?" he pointed to the door.

"Mr. Carson," she said without hesitation. But his eyebrows raised in a curious manner, and she understood immediately what he was inferring—he never dared asked such questions before. "The butler at Downton Abbey." Joe only nodded, understanding that was all she would say on the matter. "Why are you here, Joe?" she asked him again, her patience running thin—the servant's dinner would start at any moment, and she had no desire to explain her unexpected guest to them all or have gossip spread about her.

"I'm here because... I've come to ask for your hand again, Elsie." She appreciated how quiet he was being, but she did not like his reasoning. The Joe she knew, and loved, was not a stubborn man.

She grabbed his hand again. "Joe..."

"We can be a family—you, me, Charlie... and Peter too." He had forgotten about Becky—everyone always seemed to forget about Becky, even when they were together on the farm. The kids would come to ask Elsie to play, and Becky would stay behind with their mother.

Elsie decided not to mention his blunder. "You're a dear man, Joe Burns," she said softly. "But—"

"If not for me, for Charlie, then," Joe said, and her hand fell back to her side. He sighed. "She doesn't want you knowing this, but she's been writing to me."

"Has she?" Of course she had—Elsie caught her writing a few letters, but she didn't think anything of it at the time. She thought it might have been just some friends of hers from the farm.

"She's asked me to come take her back to the farm," he continued. And Elsie felt a slight pain in her stomach. "She misses the animals... and the plants. Heck, she even says she misses wearing trousers."

She smiled to herself. Charlie despised dresses, even when she was small. Ivy would force her into one for school or church, but she always found a way to get them covered in dirt and by the end of the day she was in Peter's old clothes. After she died, Joe hardly made a fuss—she had to wear one for church, but that was the only exception; everywhere else she was allowed to wear them. "I doubt anyone in the house would find it appropriate if Charlie came dressed as a farm boy."

There was a beat of silence before Joe cleared his throat. "I won't keep you any longer than I have to," he told her.

"Joe..."

"Elsie, please. I'd rather wait another week or two for the right answer than get a wrong one in a hurry," he said.

"And you think my answer last time was made in a hurry?"

The door opened and Mr. Carson's pale face appeared. "Erm, pardon my interruption, Mrs. Hughes, but—we're just about to sit down for dinner..."

"Thank you, Mr. Carson," said Elsie. "Mr. Burns here was just on his way."

Joe put on his cap and nodded at Mr. Carson, and then he turned to Elsie. "Think about it carefully," he told her.

Elsie nodded. "I will, Joe," she said softly, touching his arm. "I promise you that."

She watched him leave, and then she made her way back inside, without looking at Mr. Carson; the judgement that must have shown on his face in that moment... She could not bear to see it. Instead of going to the servants hall, she entered the kitchen where Mrs. Patmore was giving Daisy and Charlie an earful over a small spill on the counter. When the woman stopped to breathe, Elsie spoke up.

"Charlotte," she said gently, ignoring Mrs. Patmore's glare. Charlie looked up, her eyes red from the cook's yelling. "Can I see you for a moment in my sitting room?"


	10. Chapter 10

A Charlie That Came To Dinner

* * *

Charlie had a terrible habit of biting her fingernails. It started when she was little, and it only got worse from there. Ivy had done everything to get her to kick the habit. She even put bandages on her fingertips, but Charlie just ripped them away and continued biting. The biting really didn't seem all that bad whenever Elsie came to visit, the few times that she did; her nails were a bit shorter than normal, but there was hardly ever any bleeding, if any at all. It didn't become a concern until she arrived at Downton. That was when the bleeding really started showing, and Elsie would often find her hands covered in both dirt and dry blood. And now, poor Charlie fiddled with those dirty hands of hers in Elsie's sitting room, refusing to even look at her.

"Would you look at those hands," Elsie said softly to fill the silence. She wanted to reach out and touch them, maybe help her wash them or put bandages on them... or something to maybe ease the pain a little. "You really must try to stop biting them so much."

Charlie said nothing, but she placed her hands behind her back to prevent any further ridicule.

Elsie waited a moment before she spoke up again. She needed time to find the right words... "I know you don't want to be here—you've made that very clear these last few weeks," she said finally, and Charlie shifted, "but you're not going back to the farm." _Joe doesn't want you back_ , she thought to say—but that seemed too harsh. Elsie sighed. The life they lived was far too cruel. "This is the only place for you now. I'm sorry, but that's how it is..." She felt as if she were speaking too harshly, so with a softer voice she said, "I wish there were another way."

Joe was the other way, she knew, but Charlie knew nothing of his proposal. And she probably knew nothing about him coming here either. Finally, Charlie looked up at her and Elsie saw the misery on her face, the tear stains on her face. And oh heavens, life was far too cruel. "Do... you really like being housekeeper here, Mrs. Hughes?" She was Mrs. Hughes at the house; Elsie on the farm. Never anything else.

But there was still the matter of Becky and her well-being should she accept his proposal. Perhaps she could find work somewhere in the village—but Joe might not want her working after they've married and taking care of both Becky and Charlie might prove to be too much for Elsie.

"I do," Elsie said. And after a long pause, Elsie nodded at her closed door. "Away with you now. I don't want you missing your dinner."

Charlie quickly left and Elsie sat down in her chair. Her hands found her face and she allowed for a few tears to fall—but only a few. She had no time for a proper cry. A knock at her door spoiled her quiet moment and she quickly straightened. Mr. Carson stood at her doorway.

"Yes?" she said, blinking the tears away.

"Er—we're all just sitting down to dinner, Mrs. Hughes," he said softly. She wiped a tear away and he coughed slightly, taking a few steps towards her. "Are... are you all right."

She shook her head. After a moment Mr. Carson excused himself and he quickly turned to leave, but Elsie stopped him. "No... stay. There's something I need to discuss with you."

He hesitated for a moment before closing her door. He took a seat in the chair across from her. "Is this about the scullery maid or... _the man in the courtyard_?" said Mr. Carson, almost sounding jealous at the mentioning of Joe.

It was about both, really. "I may be leaving," she told him, and he shifted, his face twisting to contemplate the news. "In fact, there is a very good chance of it."

"So, this is about... the man in the courtyard, I presume."

She nodded. "Joe Burns. He's asked me to marry him and... I think I'm going to accept..."

"And you're crying tears of... happiness?"

She shrugged—perhaps not the most appropriate thing to do in that moment, but she had no words for him—and Mr. Carson hummed in response, turning away from her and he began fiddling with his hands, and she realized suddenly where she got it from. "Look," he said gently, and Elsie felt a pain in her stomach. He had vowed never to mention it; they both did. "I... er, know we don't talk about it. I know you'd rather forget about it, but—"

" _I_ want to forget about it?" she said a bit too loudly for her own liking. She quickly turned to the door as if Charlie herself would come bursting through it at any moment. "You're the one who said we should leave it in the past, Mr. Carson," she continued, more softly. "I remember that conversation quite clearly."

He still refused to look at her. "Erm... perhaps I was wrong to say that, Mrs. Hughes," he said, and his eyes drifted to the floor. "Perhaps I did a lot of things wrong..."

"You ruined my life," she said softly. It had just slipped out; she wasn't even sure she meant it. No, Elsie was certain she didn't really mean it. Not truly. She felt the tears in her eyes, but she didn't want to cry. Not in her sitting room, and certainly not in front of him.

He finally looked at her, startled and hurt, and as pale as a ghost. "I did," he said, admitting his own fault.

But she shook her head—and this time it was her who turned away. "No, no... you didn't."

He was quiet for a moment before clearing his throat again. "Mrs. Hughes, erm, Elsie..." And she turned to him, feeling... well, she wasn't quite sure how to describe the feeling. "Let me do right by you—"

"Mr. Carson?"

He paused for a brief moment before answering, "Yes?"

"The new scullery maid, Charlotte, is your daughter."


	11. Chapter 11

A Charlie That Came To Dinner

* * *

He could feel his heart beating inside his chest—one moment he's trying to propose to her, to make their sin worth something, and in the next he's being told he's the father to the scullery maid. That simply could not be. He must have heard her wrong. "What... what did you say?"

"She doesn't know that you're her father," she continued quietly. "Or... that I'm her mother, for that matter. I never told her—and I don't think Ivy or Joe ever did either."

She wouldn't look at him, which made the moment all that much more worse. He rose slowly from the chair, his legs and feet only feeling slightly numb, and like a meekly old man, Carson began hobbling out of her room. He thought he heard her say something and stand from her own chair, but he could not trust his own senses in that moment.

He used the wall to guide him into the servants hall. The servants all stood as he entered; he had somehow gained enough composure to wave them all down again—but then _she_ walked in and she looked so beautiful. How could he not have seen it before? She set a tray of something down—Carson's eyes were only on her. She glanced at him briefly; her eyes were red and puffy. She had been crying. Had she been crying the entire time she had been at Downton? She turned swiftly back towards the kitchen, the place where scullery maids belong.

"Are you all right, Mr. Carson?" It was like an echo in his ear; he wasn't quite sure who had said it. Maybe Thomas... or Mr. Bates; it could even have been Miss O'Brien for all he knew. He could not decipher it.

"Yes, yes," he assured them, but he was sure his voice told them otherwise.

"Mr. Carson is feeling... a bit under the weather tonight," Mrs. Hughes's voice rung in his ears—that voice he was sure of. She continued to speak, but Carson did not bother to listen. And without acknowledging the others, he quietly passed her and he hobbled his way into his pantry.

He sat at his desk just as Mrs. Hughes entered. Carson watched as she closed both of his doors, and then she promptly made her way towards him. This was the place, he quickly realized; this was where they made her.

How could he have not noticed? It was all there in front of him: her eyes, her hair, her nose—even the way she walked. He recalled looking at her once and thinking of his dear mother, but he quickly brushed it away. And that whole year Mrs. Hughes—Elsie—was away... How could he be so blind to it all?

"Who is Ivy?" he asked suddenly, recalling a name he did not recognize. Joe and Ivy, he recalled her saying. Joe was the man in the courtyard, the man who proposed to her, the man she seemed less than enthused to marry... but who was Ivy?

"Ivy was Joe's wife—she's dead now, but she took care of Charlie while she was alive."

He looked up at her. "Charlie?"

"Charlotte at Downton," she said. "Charlie everywhere else."

Charlie. _He_ was Charlie—Grigg, the bastard, was Charlie. And now, _she_ was Charlie too. That meant she had his name. At least a small part of it.

He shook the thought away. "You shouldn't have brought her here," he said firmly, and he nervously tapped at his own desk. What would Lord Grantham say? They would surely have to tell him.

She almost looked hurt at his comment—and perhaps he should be gentler with his words, but he only spoke the truth. He could just see the newspaper headline: _Butler And Housekeeper Bring Bastard Child To Downton Abbey_. "Charlie and I will be leaving soon enough," she assured him, and Carson's heart sank. Sensing his discomfort, she sighed. "Don't worry. We'll go separately so it doesn't turn into a big scandal. Charlie'll go first, and I'll leave once a new housekeeper is hired..."

"Leave? What do you mean leave? You can't leave!" He felt like his emotions were taking over. Was he shouting? The look on her face—startled and perhaps a little bit scared—told him he was. He cleared his throat. "I do beg your pardon," he muttered softly.

"What would you suggest I do then, Mr. Carson?" she said after a moment. And she shifted from one foot to the other.

They all had to leave, he quickly realized; there would be some scandal, but not enough to ruin Lord Grantham's reputation—he hoped. Carson would tell Lord Grantham the entire truth, and they would tell everyone else half the truth later on.

"Erm, we'll tell Lord Grantham in the morning—"

"Tell Lord...? We most certainly will not!" She spoke in a hushed voice but her anger was lethal, he could see it in her eyes.

But Carson was only half listening to her words. "And then, of course, we'll have to marry. We can hopefully have something arranged by this Friday. Or Saturday, at the latest... I don't think it wise to go somewhere local—not even York. Maybe we can arrange it in Leeds or Bradford. And Charlotte—Charlie..." And Charlie. His daughter. She didn't know yet; she was as oblivious about it as Carson had been. "We'll... keep it from her for now—but we'll have to tell her soon."


	12. Chapter 12

A Charlie That Came To Dinner

* * *

Elsie hardly slept that night—but truth be told she hadn't been sleeping well since Charlie's arrival; the dear girl was in complete misery and it was all Elsie's fault, and Mr. Carson knowing her secret only heightened her anxiety. He agreed not to tell His Lordship—on the agreement that they would eventually tell him. Elsie was fine not telling him at all. "Just put a scarlet letter on my chest and let the whole world know, why don't you," she had said to him, far too cruelly than he deserved.

Last night played over and over in her head like one of those films. Part of her wished she hadn't told him while another part of her felt glad to get it off her chest. She never said those words out loud before; she had never even acknowledged Charlie as hers—not since she was a small babe sucking at her breasts... Back when it was just the two of them fighting against the cruel, unforgiving world.

She sent a letter out to Joe thanking him for all he had done for her and for Charlie, and that she would not be accepting his second—third—proposal. But she wasn't too eager to accept Mr. Carson's proposal either. In truth, she didn't want to accept him at all. He hardly looked at her now, which made Elsie feel embarrassed and ashamed for all the sins she had committed, towards him and towards God.

He seemed to hate her now—and why would she want to marry a man who hated her?He spoke over her during breakfast more than a few times, almost as if she didn't exist. It became so bad that all the maids and footmen took notice, much to Elsie's embarrassment. And he used Anna as his messenger whenever he needed to talk to her about work, refusing to speak to her directly. The worst of it all was how he treated dear Charlie.

When William had tipped over his water at breakfast, he looked passed Charlie and ordered Daisy to come clean it up. And then Mrs. Patmore had ordered Charlie and Daisy to do something after lunch, which had Charlie carrying a rather large and heavy-looking pitcher. Mr. Carson quickly stopped them in the hall and ordered Daisy to take the pitcher—saying it was too heavy for Charlie and he didn't want to risk her breaking it. The girls made their awkward exchange, and he seemed satisfied. Elsie had watched the whole thing unfold in the shadows.

"He's been acting strange since yesterday," Daisy whispered once Mr. Carson was out of sight. "Both Thomas and Miss O'Brien think he's fallen ill, like a heart attack or something..."

At least it was nowhere near from the real reason he was acting like such a fool. Elsie emerged from where she was hiding. "Daisy! I'm surprised at you. You should know better than to spread such gossip," she said in the sternest voice she could muster.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hughes," Daisy said. Elsie could see the fear in the young girl's eyes; she always seemed so unsteady, especially whenever she was around Mrs. Patmore. Charlie beside her looked much the same. "It won't happen again. I promise."

"I should hope not," said Elsie, still trying to sound stern. "Now, go on. You both have work to do." And they hurried away into the servants hall.

Elsie made her way into her sitting room after dinner. Rather than talk over her like at breakfast, Mr. Carson simply chose to ignore her whenever she tried to speak with him. And she had to put up with Miss O'Brien and her dreadful stone face for most of the meal—judging her, and perhaps plotting with Thomas to uncover their little secret. If he continued acting like such a child, the whole village would know by next Monday, Elsie was sure of it.

Mr. Carson entered her sitting room shortly after she had, not even bothering to knock on her door as he entered. "I have everything arranged," he said quietly. "We'll take an early train into Bradford on Friday—and if everything goes to plan, we should be back before afternoon tea."

Elsie contemplated his words, and she suddenly realized he was referring to his marriage proposal—if she would even call it that. "I haven't accepted you yet, Mr. Carson," she said coldly.

"Well, I hardly think either of us have a say in the matter at this point," Mr. Carson told her. He wasn't even looking at her; he could not bear the sight of her, and yet he was insisting they marry.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He coughed, perhaps regretting his own harshness. And he finally looked into her eyes—she saw that sparkle, which somehow made her feel better. "All I'm saying is... we've made our bed, Mrs. Hughes—er, Elsie, now we have no choice but to lie on it."

She huffed, turning away from him. "We didn't make her in a bed, Mr. Carson," Elsie reminded him stiffly.


	13. Chapter 13

A Charlie That Came To Dinner

* * *

"I never told you this, but I have a sister."

He was insistent they marry—Elsie still had her doubts—but he promised to care for Charlie. She was the only one who truly mattered in all this. Mr. Carson was her father—that she was sure of— and what woman would refuse her own daughter's father? Elsie perhaps, in a kinder world. He said they didn't really have a choice in the matter, and he was right; they didn't. Not truly. Anyone in their right mind, Christian or not, would say they should marry.

"A sister?"

"Yes," she told him. "My sister Becky was born... well, not quite right in the head. Charlie doesn't know about her." She paused. He looked more confused than shocked by Becky's existence, which might be a good sign. Elsie really didn't know. "She's being cared for in a facility at Lytham St. Annes."

"What—what about your cousin, er, Beitris... Beitris Hughes? The one living in Carlisle?"

Elsie had almost forgotten the name she had given to her non-existent cousin. Why was he such a daft man? "I don't have a cousin in Carlisle. I told you that—well, first to give birth to Charlie, and then to go visit her..."

It was late and they were the only two still awake. No sherry, no wine—not even any tea to share this moment with them. Just themselves, and the many baggages they both carried.

"How many times did you go see her?"

"Not as much as I would have liked, but enough to watch her grow a bit." She sighed, and he looked away. "I always tried to visit close to her birthday—but sometimes I just couldn't afford to take the time off." He shifted in his seat at her comment, and she blinked her sadness away. "I'm telling all this to you because I need to know that Becky will still be cared for after..."

"...we've married," he finished for her. His voice was low and soft—but she truly could not tell what he was thinking in that moment. After a moment, he said: "Yes... yes, of course. Whatever she needs."

They sat in silence for a moment. She thought because he knew all her secrets now, he would have more to say to her—but it had hardly changed. _He_ had hardly changed. She hadn't really either. Except that in less than forty-eight hours they would both be named Carson.

"Elsie, I know I haven't been kind to you these last few days," he continued softly.

"I daresay we haven't been too kind to each other, Mr. Carson." Or should she call him Charles? Charlie? Oh dear heavens, two Charlies, the thought almost made her laugh.

"I only ask for some time." And time she could give him. He shook his head. "I don't know quite yet how we can get through this without ruining His Lordship's good name..." Perhaps they couldn't, which surprisingly filled Elsie with dread. The Crawley family, for the most part, were good people. Mr. Carson finally turned to her. "After we've arrived back from Bradford, we'll sit Charlie down and tell her together. And then I'll tell His Lordship... Then we'll all leave quietly together.

"I don't know where we'll go," he continued. "But we'll find someplace nice where I can find work, maybe at a factory or a shop—and Charlie can attend school..."

A sense of dread washed over her. She would stay home and do the housework, of course. Wash everyone's clothes and all of the bedsheets, and then go dry them outside. Cook breakfast, lunch and dinner for the three of them. She was capable, of course, but it might take some getting used to. It wouldn't be Joe's farm, but Charlie would have enough room to run around, and she would favor it more than Downton. And Charlie was who really mattered in all this.

Did she love Charles Carson in the same way Eustacia loved Clym, or Diggory Venn loved Thomasin? Or the way Adam loved Eve? She found him more interesting than Joe, and perhaps a little more attractive. The way his eyes sparkled was quite nice too. And the way he looked when he spilled himself inside of her, the gentle sigh that escaped his lips—that always stayed with her. But would she call it love? Did Eustacia even love Clym? She could not remember. She ought to re-read the book.


	14. Chapter 14

A Charlie That Came To Dinner

* * *

The sky was grey and the day looked dreary. Charles Carson and Elsie Hughes boarded the eight o' clock train. Charles told Lord Grantham that he and Elsie had to slip away for a few hours—keeping with Elsie's request, Charles merely told His Lordship that they had an emergency they needed to deal with regarding financials, and that they would return shortly. Lord Grantham wasn't too pleased, but that was to be expected. Charles promised to fill him in once they arrived back that afternoon.

The man who shared a cart with them commented on how dreary the weather was, predicting it would rain soon. Elsie looked up at the dark clouds above them. It was like something out of a Dickens novel—a reluctant bride sits next to her betrothed on a train while the earth cried outside.

She wore her brown day dress and a nice hat she spruced up last evening, and Charles wore his grey suit. She did not fantasize about her wedding day often when she was a girl, but when she did, she pictured a wedding dress and some flowers, and her father walking her down the aisle. And the day would be sunny and cheerful, not cloudy and sorrowful—and as they drew nearer to Bradford, the weather only became worse. She felt like she was mourning something, but she didn't quite know what yet. Perhaps her independence, or in some weird way her innocence.

Charles could barely look at her. Even as they boarded the train, he avoided looking at her. And he didn't speak. It wasn't too late, she knew; she could still refuse him, tell him she had her doubts. But she didn't—she wouldn't, for Charlie's sake.

They arrived later than expected, so they had to rush to the Bradford Registry Office. They didn't speak, but Charles held her hand tightly as he guided her through the crowd of people. It had been raining for a while now—not too terribly, but enough to damp their clothes. She wished she had thought to bring an umbrella.

They arrived a few minutes late, but the weather seemed to push everything back. A young couple went before them—and the girl looked nervous, the poor thing. Charles and Elsie waited, and Elsie watched the clock tick and tock on the far end of the wall. She wasn't reading the time; just watching it move. Charles tapped his foot beside her; he was also looking at the time, but on his own watch. After a while, the young couple emerged as man and wife, most likely, looking more jittery than before they entered. The young woman at the desk called them up and Charles and Elsie walked in together.

"I, Charles Earnest Carson," said the registrar.

"I, Charles Earnest Carson," repeated Charles. He held Elsie's hand with a loose grip; his hands were a bit shaky and a little damp from the rain, but otherwise fine.

"Take thee, Elsie May Hughes," said the registrar.

"Take thee, Elsie May Hughes..." He seemed so focused. And she was grateful he was looking at her again. She noticed the sparkle in his eyes, and she felt something warm in her stomach.

"To be my wedded wife," said the registrar.

Maybe they could learn to be happy. Maybe they could learn to love each other. "To be my wedded wife."

She repeated her own vows to him next. She thought of Charlie on the floor in a cottage near a warm fire. Charles was lounged in a chair beside her, dozing off. Little soft snores escaped his mouth occasionally. And Elsie would emerge from the kitchen with a cup of hot chocolate for the both of them, and his eyes would open. And Charlie would call her mother—or better yet mum or ma. Charles would call her dear, or love—or maybe mother too. And they would be happy. Truly happy.

"And now the ring," said the registrar.

Elsie's heart sank and Charles let go of her hand. They didn't have a ring, and she had very little hope of ever getting one. She turned to say this to the registrar—

"Here we are," Charles mumbled as he lifted a light golden ring from his chest pocket.

Elsie let out a soft whimper as he took her hand again and carefully he slid the small band onto her finger. She looked at him as he did it—so nervous and unsure, but still there was that sparkle. Charles's eyes then locked with hers once more. The registrar told him what to say, and Charles repeated his words steadily. He fitted the ring securely on her finger as the last bit of vows were said.

"It therefore gives me great pleasure to say you are now husband and wife together."

And she was no longer Elsie Hughes—but Mrs. Charles Carson. Charles stroked her hand gently, and they shared a quick moment before he let go and turned to the registrar. He thanked him, shook his hand, and together they left the room, now husband and wife. And the woman at the desk called up the next couple. Perhaps she had misread their soft moments.

They were in no hurry but the rain proved to be nuisance, so they rushed back to the train station. Again, Charles held onto her hand tightly. When they arrived some fifteen minutes later, they discovered a mob of angry people surrounding the station—far too many for Elsie's comfort. A train conductor stood on top of a small bench in the far distance. Elsie could not hear what the man was saying, but the shouts and curses being thrown at him told her it wasn't good news he had.

Charles turned to the young man beside him. "What is it? What's happened?" he asked.

The angry crowd made it difficult for Elsie to hear properly. The man said something about a broken rail, but that's all Elsie could hear—a few men beside her began shouting phrases that were not for a lady's ear, and a woman behind her was shouting at the conductor to speak up. Beside Elsie, Charles nodded at the man who spoke to him. And Elsie realized quickly they were now becoming part of the crowd as more and more people came in to inspect the scene. As she stood and waited, Elsie could feel the rain begin to pour down on them harder, and she unconsciously scooted towards Charles for comfort; he unconsciously wrapped his arm around her.

When the man stopped speaking, Charles turned back to the train conductor, who was now trying to shout his words to the crowd. After a few moments of lingering, Charles squeezed Elsie's arm and gently guided her away from the crowd.

"A rail snapped near York. No one's getting in or out for a while—at least not by train," he said pale faced. He began fiddling with his hands as Elsie reached for her drink. They stopped to eat at a public house. Shivering from the rain, she quickly realized it was their first meal as a married couple was in a public house.

"Can't anything be done," she asked, sipping her drink.

"The lad at the station says it'll take all night just to get it fixed." He let out a sigh. "I'll... I'll send His Lordship a telegram and assure him we'll be on the first train tomorrow—we'll even take the milk train, if we must."


	15. Chapter 15

A Charlie That Came To Dinner

* * *

She could blame it on the wine, she could blame it on the sparkle in his eyes, but the truth, she knew, was that she had wanted him, and only him. He had called her into his pantry to discuss preparations for some Duke or Earl visiting Downton—she could not quite remember the exact details, and she had already left by the time the man had arrived at the house anyway. They shared a glass of wine together after their work was finished. And then another, and another until she was as giggly as a young schoolgirl and he was as cheery as—well, as a drunk Mr. Carson.

But they had known what they were doing—the wine only made them not care. And it all happened so quick: she stood to go up to bed... she remembered he stood with her—he towered over her, and she recalled being eye level to a small wine stain on his white vest. They were both a bit unsteady, Elsie especially. She nearly tripped on her way to the door, but he had caught her, and then her lips were on his. Who kissed who, she really could not say.

The first kiss was nothing particularly special—a kiss a mother might give to her child, or distant relatives greeting each other. Elsie remembered thinking he would pull away and scold her for being so risqué, but instead he pulled her closer. She tasted the wine on his lips, and then on his tongue. And after a moment, he guided her to his desk.

Like a fool, she cried afterwards as she fixed her dress and he pulled up his trousers. She recalled seeing speckles of blood where she had been sitting—she briefly wondered if it was her monthly menstruation coming earlier than expected—and she watched as he quickly wiped it with his hand—and seeing his hand stained with her blood. He wiped the blood from his hand with a handkerchief on his desk, and then he wiped the spot on his desk again to clear away any smearing.

That was when their awkward silence first started. The room reeked of their sin. She left his room quietly after she made herself look dignified again, and then she went up to her room to have another good cry.

They spoke of it only once after. About a week after their _coupling_ Mr. Carson called her in again. He said that he was sorry and that he felt ashamed—ashamed of her, no doubt. To avoid scandal he told her they should both simply move on from it. A month or so later Elsie discovered she was pregnant and she left to care for her non-existent cousin soon after that. It was easier for him to leave it in the past than it was for her.

They entered the hotel room around sunset. He sent the telegram to Downton Abbey, but he still insisted they linger around the train station in case of a miracle. The rain had mostly stopped, but their hair and clothes were quite damp from standing in the rain all day.

They had dinner in the same public house they ate lunch at—and Charles asked if they had any rooms available. They didn't, and they spent the next half hour searching for a warm place to stay the night. They finally found a room near the Bradford Registry Office, of all places. They passed the same couple who had gone before them on the street—the girl looked much happier than she had been, and the boy looked very pleased as well.

Charles again stepped out for an update on the busted rail. Elsie remained in their room, all but calm. Staying the night without any luggage or extra clothes meant—well, she knew exactly what it meant, and Elsie wasn't quite sure how she felt about it. They were married now, so she really shouldn't fuss over it. And they had done it once before, after all.

Not ten minutes after Charles had left to check on the broken rail, a young woman knocked on the door to deliver a dressing-gown and a few extra towels for them. "I don't believe I asked for these," Elsie told her softly.

"It was your husband, Mrs. Carson. He asked that we bring these up to you," she told her.

"Ah, yes, thank you..."

Her clothes weren't quite soaked but they felt damp and heavy on her body. She changed in the bathroom, in case Charles should return—and she didn't want to shock or embarrass him. She hung her clothes in the bathroom to dry. Then she took her hair down, wishing she had a brush to tidy it—the weather had made it rather quite frizzy. She left it as it was, knowing there was hardly anything she could do without a hair brush.

She entered the room to find Charles on the bed in his undergarments, his suit and coat on the chair beside the window. He hadn't caught her eye yet, and she watched as he removed his last sock and tossed it onto his pile of clothes. She held her breath as she ventured closer to him. Would it be different this time around, now that she had experienced birthing a child? Would she cry again?

He looked up finally, gulping at the sight of her—she must have looked a mess. "The conductor assured me the rails would be fixed by morning—they've got the men working through the night." Charles went under the sheets first, and then he lifted the other side for Elsie to join him. After a moment of hesitation, she obeyed and lied down next to her husband.

The small light on Charles's side was now out, and the room turned completely dark. Elsie heard him hum, and then grumble, as he adjusted himself in the bed. She let out a soft breath, preparing herself for the worst, and hoping for the best—but to her surprise he did not move on top of her... or anywhere near her, for that matter. Instead he shifted to his side and Elsie released the breath she had been holding. She remained motionless, still waiting. But after a while—she did not know the exact time—she gave in and her body started to relax, and her eyes fluttered shut.

"Elsie?" she heard him say quietly a few minutes later. "Are you still awake?"

Her eyes opened again—and she felt a slight tingle somewhere. "Yes," she managed to stutter out.

He did not speak, but she felt him shift in the bed again. She turned to him—her eyes were adjusted to darkness enough to see a full outline of his bulky figure. She could hear him as he breathed and she could smell his dinner on his breath. After a moment of hesitation, he rested his hand on her arm. The touch was gentle, but completely foreign to her. They were husband and wife now, she kept having to remind herself.

"You... should have told me, Elsie—why didn't you ever tell me?" he whispered to her.

And Elsie sighed. There were a lot of things she should have done but did not do. "You said you were ashamed of it—of me," she told him just as quietly. In part, that was the truth—but she was also scared to tell him. Like him, she was scared of scandal.

His hand found her face and he scooted closer to her. She held her breath once again as his lips brushed against her forehead—an apology of sorts. She breathed out slowly at his touch. "I was never ashamed of you," he said after a quick moment. "I was ashamed of myself, really—of my lack of self-control." He sighed, and she felt his warm breath on her forehead. And there was a warmness growing in her stomach. "That moment has haunted me ever since, Elsie. I lie awake thinking about that night—wishing we had done things differently." He was never so truthful during the day time, she noted.

Their sin had haunted them both, in truth; no matter how much Elsie tried to forget about it, she would step foot in his pantry and the memories would come flowing back—or she would get a letter about Charlie from Ivy. She felt him kiss her forehead again. "I'm sorry I never told you about Charlie," she whispered softly.

He shifted a few inches away from her and then turned to lay on his back. She realized quickly they would not be consummating their marriage—no, that part had been done long ago. She felt both relieved and disappointed, but she could not say exactly why.

"Elsie?"

"Hm?"

"What is... she like?"

She smiled to herself, wondering where to begin. She was smart, and funny at times—but most notably she was adventurous. She loved all animals, no matter how slimy. She had a contagious laugh, but always preferred laughing on her own. She bit her nails whenever she felt anxious and fiddled with her hands whenever she could not find the right words to say. She was many things, Elsie knew. She decided to start from the beginning. "Well, she was really quite quiet ad a baby—never really made much fuss..."


	16. Chapter 16

A Charlie That Came To Dinner

* * *

Elsie told him she left her with the Burns family when Charlie was just three months old, and she didn't see her again until she was already walking. She told him how she liked to play with and brush Elsie's hair when she was really little—but she grew out of it quite quickly, Elsie told him, once a boy called Peter dressed her in his own clothes. "She much preferred being outside, anyway," Elsie had told him. Charlie would take her around the farm to meet all of her favorite animals. The cows she was especially fond of. "I would always come back to Downton with my dress and hair either covered in dirt or mud. I tried to always keep clean, but I could never say no her. I remember Anna asking me about it once..." Elsie slowly started drifting off to sleep as she spoke of their many adventures while Carson remained wide awake—and soon the sound of the wind and rain outside, and Elsie's soft snores, echoed in his head.

He recalled those times she would return from her half day in dirt or mud. Not enough to worry anyone, but enough to make them all wonder. And she hardly lied about her whereabouts to the house: "I was visiting some friends at a farm," she would say, and that would be the end of it. How could he be so daft? It was all right under his nose.

Elsie let out a rather unpleasant snore beside him, and he turned his head to watch her. It must have torn her up inside not telling anyone. She said she didn't even tell Ivy or Joe—though they must have suspected.

No matter how hard Carson tried to sleep, he just couldn't. There were too many things occupying his mind. He tried focusing on the sound of the rain hitting the window to ease into a gentle slumber. But when the wind and rain ceased outside, Carson simply listened to Elsie snore until the sun rose from the earth. He thought of Charlie mostly while he lied awake, waiting for Elsie to open her eyes, so they could start the day.

They took the earliest train they could. The station was packed, filled with people who looked just as disheveled as they did. They managed to get tickets for the nine o' clock train, but the carts were full and they couldn't find any seats together. He found a seat for her first. And before he left to find a seat for himself, he asked her to remove the ring he gave her. It fit so perfectly on her finger—he was surprised it fit; he thought they might have take it somewhere to be adjusted. Carson felt horrible telling her to remove it—after all, it was her right now as his wife to wear it—and the face she made when he said it just made him feel even worse. But if Lord Grantham found out before they told him... he would feel betrayed. And she understood that. She removed his ring and he placed it back in his coat pocket.

Carson found a seat in a cart filled with elderly women, who reeked of gin and cheep perfume. He avoided conversation, and merely spent his time looking out the window at the landscape around him. The women mostly spoke of gossip and scandal. And fortunately for him, they had no interest in Carson whatsoever. "The girl had been married once before," one of them had said.

Another huffed in response, while the woman beside Carson openly laughed at the comment. Carson shifted closer to the window. "And that husband had died under mysterious circumstances, if I recall correctly. It certainly makes you wonder..."

It started to rain again as they pulled into the station. Carson, the dignified man that he was, helped the women out of the cart, and then went on to find Elsie. He found her in the crowd cooing at a small child sleeping in his mother's arms.

They walked to the house together in the rain, mostly silent. He thought to put his arm out for her to hold onto, but there were too many people about and gossip had a way of spreading around Downton like wildfire.

The arrived to a suspiciously quiet house. Normally a few men would be outside trimming the grass, and the chauffeur would definitely have the car out front for His Lordship. They entered the kitchen courtyard—Miss O'Brien and Thomas stood near the door. Thomas had a cigarette while Miss O'Brien held a letter. They were whispering about something, but they quickly stopped once they caught sight of Carson and Elsie.

Miss O'Brien looked at them with raised eyebrows. "Welcome back," she said snidely.

"We were betting on if you'd even return," said Thomas, blowing smoke in Carson's direction. "His Lordship's been wondering where you two snuck off to."

Carson felt a twist in his stomach as he scolded the two for their remarks. He never liked the nasty games Thomas would play, but he was still good at his job. And Miss O'Brien was one of Her Ladyship's closest confidants, no matter how wicked she behaved downstairs. They seemed unfazed by Carson's speech, however. He felt his stomach twist even tighter as they entered the house—Carson lightly patted the ring in his pocket to make sure it was still safe before he went inside the house. It was never going to be easy, he knew, but at least Elsie was beside him—and Charlie somewhere in the house. Still wet from the rain, they went up to inform His Lordship of their arrival.

"WHAT IN GOD'S NAME IS WRONG WITH YOU, MAN?" His Lordship's voice boomed in every room of the house—even downstairs could not escape his wrath. "THE BOTH OF YOU? WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?"

"Milord, I... I sent a telegram—"

"I WOULD EXPECT THIS SORT OF THING FROM THOMAS—OR MAYBE EVEN MRS. PATMORE—BUT YOU, CARSON?"

"Milord," he tried again, "there is a perfectly reasonable explanation. I sent you a telegram—"

"For heaven's sake! I'm not speaking of the bloody rails, Carson," he said bluntly. He huffed, and he turned his attention to the window. After a long moment he turned back to them and he continued: "Mr. Murray was in Bradford yesterday," he said, and Carson's heart sank. Elsie's cheeks turned a slight shade of pink. "He tried to get your attention, you see, but the crowd was too loud..."

"Milord—"

"Ah, but he saw you again," continued Lord Grantham, "ENTERING A HOTEL ROOM. DOWNTON ABBEY'S BUTLER AND HOUSEKEEPER, TOGETHER!" He slammed his fist onto the wooden table, and Elsie jumped slightly at the noise.

"We're... we're married!" The words came flowing out as he fumbled for the ring in his pocket. In his hurry he dropped the ring, and it rolled towards Elsie. She picked it up and placed it on her finger. "We went to Bradford to marry, milord. I wanted to tell you, but..." He trailed off, glancing at Elsie.

Lord Grantham stopped for a moment, startled at such news, before turning away. "Miss O'Brien has already informed Her Ladyship of your affair, Carson. Married or not, such behavior is... unacceptable."

"Miss O'Brien...?" said Elsie. She turned to Carson, a look of worry on her face. How much did that dreadful woman know? Did she know about Charlie?

"Her Ladyship wanted to face you herself, but I wouldn't allow it," said Lord Grantham. He huffed again. "I want you both out of this house immediately—I don't care where you go, but you can't stay here."

Carson felt a terrible pain boiling in his stomach. That was the plan, wasn't it? To leave Downton after they returned from Bradford? But Downton Abbey was his home... His own choices led him to this point, and he must take it with grace. He betrayed his master and now he must be punished for it. After glancing at Elsie, he took a quick breath and stood straighter than he had been before, like the butler he once was. "There is one last bit of detail that I think you should be made aware of—"

Lord Grantham raised his hand to stop him. "I don't want to hear it, Carson. Mrs. Hugh—er, Carson. I only want you gone."

"I can only say that I'm sorry, milord," Elsie said after a quick moment, and Lord Grantham bowed his head. "I wish I could say I regret it, but I don't..."

To Carson's surprise, nor did he. "We'll leave as soon as we gather our things," he said softly.

They exited the library and quickly they made their way downstairs. Elsie would fetch Charlie and get her packed while Carson packed his own things. He wasn't a man who cherished many things, but cleaning out his room would be difficult. He was hoping for more time. The whole village must know by now—he hated to think how the Dowager thought of him now. He brought shame onto the great house of Downton Abbey, and there was nothing he could do about it. He only hoped it would stay out of the local papers, for His Lordship's sake.

All the servants, except Thomas and Miss O'Brien, stood waiting for them in the kitchen. The crowd of them was quite shocking but not surprising. "Is it true?" Anna asked, looking mostly at Elsie. "Are you really leaving?"

Elsie looked flushed and she could hardly look at the maids. Carson cleared his throat; he would have to take charge and there was only one place to start, he knew. "Mrs. Hughes and I are now married," Carson announced, and he ignored their slight gasps. "This means we will no longer hold the position of Butler and Housekeeper..."

"So, that's it, then?" asked William. "You're just gone?"

"I'm afraid so, William," said Elsie with a bow of her head.

"It isn't fair," said Anna, and Mr. Bates beside her nodded his head. "Let me speak with Lady Mary. I'm sure—"

"There will be no interfering with His Lordship's decisions, Anna," said Carson firmly.

"It was Thomas," muttered Mr. Bates. "I caught him speaking with His Lordship last night. He probably plotted with Miss O'Brien."

It was no one's fault but his own, Carson knew. After a long moment of silence, Gwen stepped forward. "Congratulations—on the wedding, I mean, Mr. and Mrs. Carson," she said.

And Elsie smiled sweetly at her. The other servants followed her lead in congratulating the newly married couple.

"We can help you pack," suggested Anna after it had gone silent again.

The crowd quickly dispersed as Anna and Gwen guided Elsie back up the stairs. Carson searched for Charlie in the crowd. To his disappointment, he could not find her. Daisy and Mrs. Patmore stood together, but Charlie was nowhere in sight.

"Erm, Mrs. Patmore," he began cautiously. Charlie's parentage was still unknown to everyone, even to His Lordship. "Where is the scullery maid?"

The chef squinted at him, but it was Daisy who spoke: "She's run off, Mr. Carson."

Carson felt his heart sink. "Run off...?"

"Yes, Mrs. Patmore was yelling at her—and she just turned her heel and left out the servant's door. No one's seen her since," said Daisy. "Honestly, I think she's my hero for it."

"Good riddance, I say," said Mrs. Patmore, getting on with her work. "Did you know she brought a snake into my kitchen?" Elsie told her about that last night—except he thought it was lizard.

Carson's legs became numb as he ascended the steps again to find Elsie. He found her alone in her room. His face must have revealed his worry, for she placed a comforting hand on his arm.

"Anna and Gwen told me," she said in a whisper as if he she could read his mind, "but I think I know where she's gone off to..."


	17. Chapter 17

A Charlie That Came To Dinner

* * *

"She's not in any danger, then?" he asked her while they waited at the station. Their train was late and their bags were heavy. Between the two of them, they had six bags to carry. They had to clean out their rooms downstairs as well, and Carson was sure he left some things behind. But nothing too valuable: some old papers and that picture of Alice maybe—if he still had it. What was she doing these days? Living happily somewhere with Grigg, no doubt.

He shook any unwanted feelings away. He was a married man now, after all. And a father too... What would Charlie call him, he wondered. He called his own father dad. Papa seemed far too upper-class for Carson's taste. Da might be better suited for him... What if she didn't want to call him anything? What if she wanted only to call him Charles or Charlie? Well, as long as she called him something, it would be fine.

He had no warm place to take her—or Elsie, for that matter—but he could certainly afford to buy a home for them, perhaps a small cottage. He no longer had an income, but he had enough saved up where they could still live comfortably for a few months. He would have to find work somewhere—what sort of work a disgraced former butler could obtain, Carson had no idea but he would certainly find out. And then, of course, there was Becky to worry about. Did Elsie want to care for her sister herself or keep her in a facility? It might help if Elsie found work too, but he would never force that on her...

"No, I don't think," said Elsie, shaking her head. "Joe would make sure she's being cared for, I'm sure of it."

"And how do you know the farm is where she went?"

She huffed in frustration just as he spotted their train in the distance. "To be perfectly honest, Mr. Carson, I don't! But I haven't got the slightest idea as to where else she might be."

When the train pulled up and the passenger's all exited, they made their way towards it. Carson placed their bags in the cart first and then helped Elsie enter. They sat across from each other in silence with their bags between them. The day was still dreary, but at least the rain had stopped. And they arrived late in the afternoon.

Their baggages made it impossible to walk to the farm, so Carson found a taxi to take them. He was a bit weary entering such a machine—he was made to open its doors and guide people in and out of them, not ride inside. Elsie must have sensed his discomfort, but instead of giving him any sort of comfort she covered her mouth with her hands to hide her amusement. To his surprise, the journey to the farm was quick—far quicker than any horse, he noted. He paid the driver, and together they began removing their baggage from the car. As the last bag hit the ground, he spotted a young farm lad walking in the distance. Not wanting to make multiple trips up to the small house in the distance, he called him over: "You there, boy," he said, "I'll pay you two pence for each bag you can carry."

"Really?"

Carson's heart sank as Charlie rushed over to grab the bags. She stopped suddenly when she realized it was him—he was still Mr. Carson in her eyes. She liked dressing in boy's clothing at the farm, Elsie had told him last night.

"You've come to take me back," Charlie said softly. "You have! I just know it."

"No, not exactly," said Elsie softly. She hesitated, and then cleared her throat. "Charlie..." She stopped quickly, glancing at Carson. "Is Joe here?"

She shook her head. "He went into the village to post a letter—a letter to you, actually. He won't be back for another hour or so..."

"Well, it's probably for the best," she said. After a long pause, she sighed. "Why don't we go inside. There's something we need to discuss with you..."

Charlie did not move. "It's about Downton, isn't it?"

Again, Carson and Elsie glanced at each other. "Yes," said Carson quickly. Seeing Elsie's face of disapproval, he added, "Er, I mean, no..." Again, Elsie looked displeased, so he simply sighed. "It's, er, a bit complicated."

"All right," said Charlie, but she looked rather suspicious of him. She lifted two bags from the ground. "Do I still get paid two pence a bag?"

She was reaching for a third bag just as Carson took the two bags away from her. "Er, you two go ahead inside. I can carry these in," said Carson gently. Charlie looked disappointed she no longer had any bags to carry. He would still pay her two pence, if that was what she truly wanted.

Elsie removed the two bags from Carson's hands and handed them back to Charlie. She then picked up two bags for herself. "We'll carry them in together."


	18. Chapter 18

A Charlie That Came To Dinner

* * *

How hard could it be to just tell her? 'Charlie, you're our daughter. We made you on my desk in my pantry about twelve or so years ago. Your mother, she lied about it to you and to me. Now, let's forget all that and be the happy family we were always meant to be, shall we?' It really shouldn't be that difficult.

Carson entered a stranger's home—or Joe Burns's home. He wasn't a stranger to Elsie, or to Charlie, so was no longer a stranger to Carson. It wasn't dirty, but definitely untidy. Elsie prepared the tea in the kitchen while Charlie and Carson sat in silence in the sitting area. He watched as Charlie nervously bit at her nails in front of him. Perhaps she thought they were going to punish her for leaving... and maybe they should talk to her about that afterwards; she really should learn not to run off. But for now, he was still the butler at Downton Abbey—in her eyes, anyway.

Clearing his throat and muttering something incomprehensible even to him, he pulled out four loose pence coins from his pocket. King George faced profile, looking high and mighty, and far more honorable than Charles Carson would ever be. He handed the coins off to Charlie. "As promised, four shiny pence coins. Just for you," he said.

"Thanks," said Charlie, observing the coins in her hand. She jiggled them and they rattled slightly in her open hand. "I could have carried more, you know."

"I'm sure you could have carried them all," said Elsie as she entered with a tea tray. "No one's doubting you there." Her comment was meant to be lighthearted and perhaps a little humorous—but Carson was far too nervous to laugh, and Charlie seemed eager to get on with her day.

They were all quiet as Elsie prepared their tea. First, she made Carson's cup and handed it off to him, and then she prepared Charlie's tea. "Faye's going to have a baby," said Charlie as Elsie handed a tea cup off to her.

Elsie's eyebrows lifted. Not in shock, he carefully noted; she seemed content with this new information. Carson knew Joe and his deceased wife Ivy, and Peter, their son who joined the army, but who was Faye? A young neighbor of theirs, he quickly created in his mind. "Is she?" said Elsie. "Well, that's quite exciting. It'll certainly keep Joe busy these upcoming months..."

Maybe not a neighbor? It would be quite scandalous if it was a woman Joe had _seen_ —but who was he to judge? And why would Charlie know anything about that? "Faye?" he questioned.

"A cow on the farm," said Elsie, and Carson nodded. They must think he had a filthy mind. "Charlie likes to give names to all the animals on the farm."

Charlie's face turned a slight pink at Elsie's comment and she retreated back to biting her nails, avoiding Carson's gaze. He cleared his throat and Elsie turned to him. "Erm... Elsie?"

Charlie sensed the shift in his tone—and the use of Elsie's first name. Elsie ignored her own tea cup and took a seat next to him on the small sofa. How does one begin such a conversation? Maybe it would be better to let out quickly—like a bandage, the pain would only be brief. Or maybe they should fill her in gradually: 'Elsie's your mother. Would you like a biscuit with your tea? I'm your father. Let's go out and see that cow, shall we?'

In the end, it was Elsie who told her. Carson hardly said anything—like a fool he just sat there and watched Charlie's face gradually go from mildly concerned to utter confusion, and then finally, at the very end, just plain hurt. Her face was now fully red, but not from embarrassment, and her eyes were on the verge of tears—so were Elsie's. He felt like crying too, but crying was something he was never quite good at. God, when was the last time he even cried? Perhaps when he was still a small boy, having to say goodbye to his grandad. Charlie's fingers went back to her mouth once the truth came flowing out, and he could see the blood trickle down her hand. He offered her his handkerchief to wipe it away. She didn't take it.

"Now, is there anything you... would like to ask us?" said Elsie finally, almost breathlessly after she had finished. How long she had spoken for, Carson had no clue, but it felt like hours. It must have been an hour at least. She covered most of the things she told Carson the night before—except he noticed she left out the part where Joe Burns had proposed to her, twice. Maybe she already knew of Joe Burns's intentions, or maybe Elsie simply did not think the information was relevant. She focused mainly on the birth, and their first few months together before going to the farm. She was far more gentle with Charlie than she was with him—telling him, she was so abrupt with him.

The door opened and a man who Carson recognized as Joe Burns entered. He removed his hat and unbuttoned his coat, and then his eyes went to Elsie and Charlie. And then they rested on Carson—he felt an uneasiness settle in his stomach upon facing the other man's gaze. Charlie stood, and Carson quickly followed her up. "Erm..." Carson muttered out, trying to think of some explanation for Joe. But Charlie raced passed Joe Burns and went out the open door before he could come up with anything good to say. And Joe Burns turned to Elsie for an explanation.


	19. Chapter 19

A Charlie That Came To Dinner

* * *

Carson walked through muddy grass, and perhaps something far more fowl, to find her. She sat hunched over atop a large wooden post, facing the large empty field. The rain had mostly stopped, but the sky still looked dreary and the air was a bit humid. The four pence coins he had given her were sunken in the mud—he hoped—a few yards away from her. He scooped them up on his way towards her, dirtying his hand.

There were no cows out in the field; only tall grass and a few trees blowing in the wind. He stopped beside her, clearing his throat to make his presence known. She shifted slightly, but otherwise made no effort to acknowledge him. "Where are the cows?" Carson asked, awkwardly motioning towards the empty field.

Charlie turned to him slightly, but said nothing. He looked down at his muddy shoes, and then the hand that held the coins. His hand he could easily handle, but the shoes he was not quite sure about. They would need to be cleaned before the mud solidified. He could scrape it off easily enough, but he wished he had thought to bring some shoe polish along with him.

Elsie was still speaking with Joe Burns. He was a kind man—far kinder than either Carson or Elsie deserved. Upon seeing the ring on Elsie's finger, he assumed correctly and congratulated them on their nuptials with only a bit of hesitation—if things were done differently, Elsie might have beamed with pride and Carson would have shaken the man's hand thank him enthusiastically. A bit bluntly, Joe Burns asked Elsie if Carson was Charlie's father—and Elsie had firmly told him yes. And then, with only a slight hint of hesitation from her, she admitted to him she was also Charlie's mother. He nodded, as if he knew already.

Elsie told Carson she wanted a few minutes alone with Joe. She told him to go search for Charlie—she should be near the barn, Joe had said before Carson reached the door—but not to bring her back to the house immediately. He nodded, and left to begin his search. The outside of the barn was completely empty, so he journeyed further away from the house to find her.

"Erm..." Carson cleared his throat, looking at her now on the post. "Here—it's, er, yours to keep," he said after a moment. He placed the muddy coins down beside her on the wooden post, and she turned to him. Her eyes were only slightly red from crying. With his clean hand, he pulled out his handkerchief to wipe the tears on her cheeks, but—hesitating—he stopped halfway to her face, and opted to hand it to her instead.

She only stared at it. He cleared his throat again, waiting for her to take it. A moment passed, and the hand that held the handkerchief fell to his side. She turned away from him and he looked out at the field again.

"I... erm, don't blame you for being so shocked by it all," Carson said softly. He had a very similar reaction when Elsie first told him too. "It all happened so quickly." Charlie's conception; her life at Downton; his and Elsie's wedding... It all seemed to happen so fast, like a blink of the eye. Again, he cleared his throat. "I can't go back and change the past—no matter how much I would like to—but I'm determined to do right by you, Charlie," he continued, attempting to make his voice sound fatherly. "You and Mrs. H—your mother. I'm going to take care of you both."

She remained silent, sitting on the post and staring out onto a field of nothing. And he stood patiently waiting beside her.

Half an hour later, he spotted Elsie searching the farm for them. When their eyes met, she beckoned Carson near. He excused himself from Charlie and trudged back through the grass and mud to meet Elsie on the path. They both glanced down at his trousers and he noticed quickly the mud stains on his cuffs—oh, what a pain it would be to wash himself up.

"He's offered to let Charlie stay here for a few weeks," Elsie told him after a moment, "so we can get things settled."

"That was very kind of him," said Carson, almost sounding shocked. The man who stole the woman he wished to marry, who came to his farm and claimed ownership of both the woman he loved and the girl he raised as his own; all things considering, Carson should have been shot dead on the man's kitchen floor the moment he stepped foot in his house.

"Joe Burns is nothing if not kind..." She seemed to have some doubt lingering in her voice, and he briefly wondered if she regretted marrying him instead of Joe. Of course, with Charlie's existence, there really wasn't an option. "He offered to let us stay too, but..." Her eyes drifted to the ground.

"No, I agree—it's best we find a place in the village," he said. "Charlie's comfortable here... and I wouldn't want to risk her running off again." He paused, observing his new wife—his wife, it felt odd to say it—carefully. He wished he could read her mind. "I hope you understand I'm going to pay him for this," Carson continued seriously. "And not just for these next few weeks..." He owed a great debt to that man, to that stranger.

She looked over at where Charlie sat, and Carson cleared his throat to get her attention back on him. "She—erm—hasn't quite warmed up to me yet," he said gently. "But that was what we expected, wasn't it?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really make Joe a saint in this story. The way I see it, he's just happy to have Elsie as a friend. He asked her to marry him more out of companionship and for Charlie's sake than actual romantic love for her. But I think he does also love her.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is slightly nsfw, but it's not too bad. Also, has anyone seen Enola Holmes on Netflix? That free spirit-ness is how I imagine Charlie to be.

A Charlie That Came To Dinner

* * *

"Her name was Alice," Charles had confessed to her late that night. "Alice Neal." They found a nice cozy room in the village—Joe pulled some strings last minute. Mrs. Lane, the woman who owned the house, was old and frail, and unable to climb up and down the stairs. Her mind might have been a bit cloudy as well, for she called Charles by the name Gene and Elsie was Molly—and she seemed to be under the impression Charles was her son. She was kind, but far too gone to take anything she said seriously. There were three others boarding in the house: a man Mrs. Lane called Jerry, who introduced himself as Simon, and a pair of middle aged sisters, Gertie and Anne—Mrs. Lane had no trouble remembering their names, funnily enough.

It had been a long afternoon, and an even longer evening, and Elsie thought it best to just go to bed—hoping the next day would be better. While Charles was downstairs helping Mrs. Lane in the kitchen, Elsie quickly changed into her nightgown and went to bed. She fell into a light sleep the moment her head hit the feather pillow.

She dreamed of their night together. He was on top of her, moaning—growling. But they were outside, not on his desk, and they were naked for all to see. He did not kiss her—he hardly kissed her back then too, if she remembered correctly. But those eyes. Heavens his eyes, they sparkled. And she moaned too—a moan of pleasure, not discomfort this time. And he moved slowly, in and out of her...

She sighed softly, and her eyes fluttered open—a dim light in the room prevented her from falling smoothly back into that dream. After her eyes adjusted, she turned to see Charles sitting up beside her, a book in his hands. But his eyes were on her, not his book.

She blinked the sleep away, her dream almost forgotten, and sat up beside him. "Did I wake you?" he asked her softly. He was in his blue pajama shirt and bottoms. Still too dazed from sleep to speak, she shook her head. He set his book down and blew out the candle on his night stand. They sat together in darkness for a minute or two before he slid back down to lay in bed. Elsie followed him.

After another moment of awkward silence, he started telling her about Charlie, his old singing and dancing partner. But his thoughts quickly turned to Alice, his lover.

"Charlie and I, er... shared her," he told her cautiously. The implications did shock her, but sex was much different for men than it was for women. Men could go from woman to woman without much judgement while women, proper women, were ruined the moment any man touched them. "I wasn't aware of it at the time, of course. Neither Charlie nor Alice told me. I had to learn it from her sister, of all people." He stopped to clear his throat. "I—well, I asked her to marry me. She told me no and... and they ran off together somewhere, never to be seen or heard from again."

Elsie could hear the pain in his voice as he spoke. For a moment, she even thought he had started crying. She did not have words of comfort for him—she did not have any words at all for him. But his hand found her waist and he scooted closer to her. She hummed at his foreign touches. "Am I correct to assume that... I was your first, Elsie?" he asked her softly, his breath hot against her forehead. She sighed her response.

Elsie did not think Charles meant to be sensual. He wasn't trying to be anything but honest in that moment. She had her doubts they would even be together in that intimate way again—if he even wanted to do that with her again. Perhaps Alice was in his head the entire time they were together. If she weren't such a prude, if she were more like Alice, perhaps Elsie would ask him if he desired her, like he desired Alice all those years ago, like a husband should desire his wife.

He kissed her forehead—once, twice and then a third, final time—waiting for a proper response from her. The only thing she could really do was sigh again. He must have sensed her nerves, for he let her go and moved back to his own side.

Elsie turned from him, feeling suddenly cold without his girth beside her. He moved beneath the sheets, and their toes briefly touched before she slowly pulled away. She told herself she was far too tired—they both were—and they had a long couple of weeks ahead of them.


	21. Chapter 21

A Charlie That Came To Dinner

* * *

She was a farmer's daughter in Argyll. She knew the life. She wasn't particularly fond of the lifestyle anymore, if she ever was. These days she heavily preferred making beds and ordering maids around than milking cows and collecting eggs from the chicken coop, but she remembered the life well enough to easily maneuver her way around Joe's farm.

Charles took a train ride to the mill town closest to them earlier that morning. Simon, the man staying in the room across from them, informed Charles of a rumor about the factory being in dire need of a new foreman. Simon gave him the owner's name and the factory's address. At first, he was reluctant to go, for Charlie's sake, and a little bit of his own—she was a farm girl, who enjoyed fresh air and animals, and he was no factory worker—but he really had no other options, and a foreman was close to a Butler's duties. Elsie, of course, stayed on the farm with Charlie, but the dear girl avoided her all morning. She came in at breakfast, and Charlie left the room when she entered. Joe tried to apologize, but it was the reaction Elsie expected. She decided to help Joe around the farm, because it was the least she could do—and what else would she do? She had no job to go to. Not anymore.

She would see Charlie with Joe, helping him and the young farm boys with the more arduous tasks. Charles—he told her earlier it was all right to call him Charlie, but she was afraid it might become confusing, so in her head she still called him Charles—would perhaps scold her for carrying multiple hay barrels out onto the field. It was a man's job, he might say to her, if he were comfortable enough to tell her his beliefs.

She was in the kitchen when Elsie went inside to prepare lunch early in the afternoon. Her hands were in her lap, and her head was facing down—perhaps picking at those scars on her fingers. After a bit of hesitation, Elsie greeted her; Charlie looked up but said nothing, and she didn't leave. It was certainly an improvement.

They were friends before all this. Before Ivy died; before Joe asked her to marry him; before she told Charles and Charlie. It wasn't simple, no, but life hardly ever was. She cherished every short moment she had with Charlie before all this, but she hardly ever dwelled on them. Except maybe late at night when there was only Charlie to think about. And then she might allow herself to cry a bit. Did she regret any of it? Sometimes—even more so now.

She took a good look at Charlie. She hadn't been crying, thankfully. Perhaps she was all cried out. She went to bed without dinner, Joe told her, and Elsie knew for a fact she didn't touch any of her breakfast because she was the one who washed the dishes. She wasn't thin but she wasn't fat either; she was perfectly average—not that either of those things were bad. She had been perfectly average since birth. Elsie's eyes must have been too much for Charlie because she shyly looked back down at her lap again, her face a slight pink.

Elsie took one last moment to look at her before turning her attention to the slices of bread on the counter. She had decided to make sandwiches for lunch—it was the simplest option. She did not come from a long line of exceptional cooks, remembering her mother's ordinary apple crumble all too well. Not her most terrible dish, but Becky certainly fussed whenever she made it. "I wouldn't mind an extra hand or two," she told Charlie softly. But she wasn't going to force her.

To Elsie's surprise, instead of running off like she did earlier, Charlie stood, her hands carefully cupped together, and made her way to Elsie. But she chose only to observe her instead of helping her. Elsie didn't mind. Not really. Charlie, like Elsie as a girl, wasn't made for simple domestic work—perhaps that was the reason she said no to Joe that first time he asked her to marry him. If she was being perfectly honest with herself, there were a great many reasons why she told him no, including one attractive butler at Downton. She worked in silence, preparing each sandwich as perfectly as she could, while Charlie watched.

They continued like this for a solid five minutes. But it came as no great surprise to Elsie when a tiny green lizard leapt from Charlie's hands and onto the kitchen counter—part of her expected it, to be perfectly honest—but the sight of the ugly creature forced a shrilled shriek out of Elsie as she moved away from it. Charlie laughed as it crawled around the counter, but she grabbed it quickly before it jumped onto one of the stacked sandwiches.

"Very funny, young lady," said Elsie as sternly as her beating heart could manage. "Now, if you don't mind..." She fell silent once she noticed Charlie's smile fade. Perhaps she sounded too harsh. She watched carefully as Charlie stroked the lizard's head with her index finger—speckles of dry blood on the tips of her fingers. "Would you look at those fingers," said Elsie—mostly to fill in the silence.

"You could have told me," Charlie said softly, and Elsie held her breath for a moment. She could have done a lot of things. "I would have kept it a secret."

"I have no doubt you would have," said Elsie.

Another beat of silence passed, and Elsie thought to do something to comfort the dear girl; hug her, hold her—tell her how relieved she was that they can finally talk about it, but Charlie's words came faster than Elsie's...

"A part of me already knew, I think," continued Charlie. "Ivy never said anything—but she always acted strange whenever you came to visit. Maybe she thought you'd take me away from her."

"Well, anything she thought was purely speculation," said Elsie. "I never told her—or Joe." But Elsie knew they knew. From the moment she entered their home with Charlie in her arms, they knew who she belonged to. They never brought it up, so Elsie never told them—but she would have, if they asked; they were the only ones who she would have told. She hesitated before adding, "I never told anyone."

Again, silence filled the air. After waiting a moment for Charlie to reply, Elsie returned to her work on the sandwiches. She needed enough to feed Joe's workers—there weren't a lot of them, but they were young and still growing.

"You and Mr..." Charlie stopped to clear her throat. What would she call them now? She was fine with still being called Elsie—it was her name, after all—but Charles might want something more traditional. "You're married to him now, aren't you?"

Elsie glanced down at her ring. It was simple; nothing at all like the extravagant rings owned by Lady Grantham and her daughters. But simple perfectly suited Elsie, and Charles too—she hoped. "I am..."

Elsie had finished making the sandwiches and now it was time for her to cut them. She grabbed the dull knife on the counter and grabbed one of the sandwiches off the stack.

Again, Charlie cleared her throat. "Are we going back to Downton, then?"

She wished it could be that simple. "No, we won't be going back to Downton." It really wasn't something a young girl should worry about, Elsie and Charles both agreed. And he told Elsie not to tell her about their termination. Elsie hoped it would all be settled in a month or two. She put on a brave smile and turned to Charlie. "Now, go put that... thing back outside and wash up. Lunch is almost ready."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took so much longer to write only because I could not figure out what Charlie was going to say to Elsie. I had the same issue a few chapters with Charlie and Carson, and I got around it with Charlie not saying anything to Carson. But Elsie and Charlie are closer, so they needed dialogue. Anyway, thanks so much for reading.


	22. Chapter 22

A Charlie That Came To Dinner

* * *

He was loosening his tie and leaning down to remove his shoes when she entered their room a few hours later. He glanced up at her, his eyes seeming to linger on her dress and the dirt that had gathered over the long work day. She felt shy suddenly, knowing she must look a terrible mess. "You're here," he told her.

Elsie's entire body ached; she had been on her feet the entire day with very little breaks in between. It was similar to her housekeeping duties at Downton—except she was inside, away from the hot sun for most of that time. All she really wanted to do now was take a hot bath and go to bed. It wasn't yet dinner time, but that hardly mattered to her. "I am."

He avoided removing his shoes and stood to greet her. His kiss was awkward but gentle on Elsie's cheek. "I, er, thought you might be having dinner on the farm with Charlie... and erm, Joe."

She shook her head. "No." Would she tell him about the conversation they had; it was brief, but not unpleasant. She would have liked to have had something longer; Elsie thought to invite Charlie to have dinner with them—but Charlie was still hesitant, and she still seemed a little unsure about Charles.

She brushed a few speckles of dirt away from her dress and then moved to the mirror to unpin her hair. There was no proper vanity to sit in front of, so she had to make do with the long rectangular one in the corner of their room. She felt his eyes on the back of her, and she saw him through the reflection of the mirror; heavens, she was such a mess.

"She spoke with me today," Elsie said softly. His gaze lifted from her body to the reflection of her eyes. "She's very curious about it all..."

He placed his hands behind his back and he adjusted his posture. "As she should be," he said, almost breathlessly. He stepped closer to her and cleared his throat. Elsie held her breath. "I've, erm, checked the papers and... there's no news of it yet."

"And I doubt there will be," she said. "Honestly, Charlie, we're servants, not the King and Queen."

He stiffened at her comment, and Elsie wished she hadn't sounded so harsh. She watched as he pulled free his already loose tie. "Well, I've also sent a letter to Mrs. Patmore—should they have a need to locate us."

Her eyebrows lifted, and she could not manage to stifle her scoff. "I doubt she'll be able to read it..." It was the truth, wasn't it? The woman was going blind—and poor Daisy suffered the most from it. But perhaps she shouldn't have said it out loud.

His reflection showed shock for a quick moment before a soft and amused smile formed on his lips. If he were still Mr. Carson in her eyes, and if she were still Mrs. Hughes in his, he might scold her for saying such an inappropriate comment, but Charles Carson, her husband and father to her child, simply smiled to himself and said nothing. Her hair was now down. Not completely, but enough to free the weight atop her head. She watched his reflection carefully. He looked pale and almost sickly, but his eyes still sparkled.

"The factory was looking for a new foreman," he said after a moment.

"Oh?"

"They were kind, and they allowed me to speak with the owner—but I think they had someone else already in mind for the position." His voice had a hint of melancholy, but he did well in masking it.

His eyes briefly wandered away from the mirror, onto the chair where he threw his tie. To get his attention back onto her, Elsie cleared her throat—feeling how dry her mouth had gone. "Your assumption of me was... right." Her face heated at her confession, and she saw in the mirror it had gone a slight pink; she felt like a foolish girl, not a wife. His eyebrows lifted and his eyes squinted in confusion. "Last night, that is. When you asked..." She avoided his eyes. He nodded in understanding.

She felt his hand brush up against her waist. "I hope I haven't shocked you, Elsie. I'm only trying to be honest."

She was not good at being honest. Not with him, anyway. "I'm sorry. I don't think I've told you that yet—but I am."

His hands loosely wrapped around her waist and he drew her closer to him, so her back was now against his girth. His touch, so queer but not unfamiliar, made her heart pound and her stomach flutter. Would it be like last time? Would he unbutton his trousers and lift her dress? Would she bleed again? She tensed up at the thought. His hands let go of her as quickly as they grabbed her, and he pulled away slightly.

He tried to speak, but she wouldn't let him. "I'm... going to take a bath, I think," Elsie said softly, and he stepped aside to let her pass. But she didn't move. Instead, she grabbed his hand and squeezed it slightly. "Afterwards, we can talk..."


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have avoided writing this chapter for too long. Warning: M rated.

A Charlie That Came To Dinner

* * *

Alice breaking his heart might have been why he didn't propose to Elsie immediately, afterwards. Alice was his first, and they had only been together a few times. He didn't think he was Alice's first, but he certainly was not going to be her last—Grigg, the bastard, made sure of that... He quickly sighed. Why did he insist on still thinking about her, about them? Damn them both but it was in the past now, and he needed to move on.

He sat anxiously at the foot of the bed, waiting for her to enter their room again. He thought to change into his pajamas, or put his tie back on to go downstairs and get them both some food to eat. She didn't seem hungry, though, and he had a big lunch to fill him until morning. But instead he sat there, waiting—wanting.

She arrived back in their room twenty minutes later with damp hair and a peach-colored nightgown on. He avoided speaking to her immediately and she avoided his eyes as she maneuvered her way around the room, grabbing her hair brush off the dresser and brushing it all out in front of the mirror. And then tying it together in a loose braid.

"I'm sorry too," he managed to tell her finally, almost startling her. She looked at him through the mirror. "I let my doubts and my fears take over all those years ago—I was... concerned you wouldn't want to marry me..." Afraid was the better word for it, but Carson did not want to reveal to her he was afraid. A man should not be afraid. He made an awkward gesture with his hands that he did not quite understand, nor did she. "After," he added quickly, glancing at the ground to avoid saying it to her face. Alice didn't want him afterwards, so why should Elsie? But Elsie wasn't Alice... Elsie was not Alice.

He stood, and she turned from the mirror to look at him properly. His lips were a bit sloppy, not in sync with her own, but he tried his best to please her. To make her understand he desired her, like a husband should desire his wife. She let his kiss linger. And it felt a lot like last time, except they both had a clear head. But her body tensed again when his hands found her waist. It won't be like last time, he wanted to reassure her. He thought to pull his hand away from her, to comfort her, but he lifted her nightgown instead. She was his wife—and damnit, he would love her like a husband should.

"I'll take care of you," he told her in a whisper. And she let him pull it up over her head and toss it aside. He felt himself grow at the sight of her. Her breasts drooped just above her uneven stomach and a few small freckles sat below her right breast. Her nipple, pink and stiff from desire, pointed down at them, like God did to Adam in Michelangelo's beautiful painting. Elsie was his beautiful painting. She shivered when Carson stroked her freckles with his thumb. Dark curly hairs covered her entrance—he remembered them from last time. Some had turned grey. That didn't matter, though. She was still beautiful.

Carson felt too overdressed in front of her, so he began removing his own clothes. First, slipping off his shoes, and then his vest—his watch in the pocket falling to the ground with a loud thud. Elsie picked it up, and checked to make sure it was okay. It was; she placed it on the dresser next to her hair brush. He was surprised to find Elsie's hands interlocking with his own as he started unbuttoning his shirt. And when his trousers fell to his ankles, she was too embarrassed to look anywhere but his eyes. Their lips met again—hotter and more urgent than the last kiss. He slipped out of his trousers fully to carefully guide her to their bed. They sat on top of the comforter. She still shivered when he touched her, but she did not protest when Carson urged her legs apart. He would take care of her, he promised her again.

He dipped a finger inside of her, and she squealed at the sensation, but it had been muffled by his soft kisses. He moved in and out of her, careful to maintain a slow pace—her body seemed to move with him naturally; his finger would push into her, and her body would lift up, thrust forward. Their lips parted, and she gasped his name, "Char... Charlie!" she said. Not Carson, or Charles—but Charlie. Her voice sounded desperate and so very sensual, so he added a second finger inside of her, and he quickened his movements. She felt so warm and wet—and she smelled so beautiful. He leaned in for another kiss but she moved her head and he instead landed on her jaw. But Carson did not mind. He moved quickly down, kissing the her neck where he felt her pulse. It all seemed a bit too much for her; the sounds escaping her were inaudible and perhaps meaningless—he didn't want to lose her.

"Breathe," Carson told her softly. And she listened. She turned to him and sighed into his bare shoulder as his fingers slid deeper inside of her. But it still wasn't quite good enough. He removed his fingers—she let out a soft whimper at the sudden change—and he guided her leg up onto his lap—his hardness and her bare thigh meeting. He placed his fingers back inside of her, where they belonged, but now in a underhand position, while his thumb rubbed her precious little nub.

Her head fell back, smashing against the wooden headboard, but she didn't seem to care—nor did he. Not really. If he were in his right mind, he might search for a pillow that was somewhere in the bed with them. But instead he decided to add a third finger, and the moan that escaped her mouth was so enticing. He decided to move quicker—and she cried out. She was so close—he could feel it in the way her nails dug into his chest and the way her hips moved with him so desperately. "Charles... please."

She needed him, just as he needed her. But she wasn't ready—it would end too soon. "No, not yet," he told her softly.

His thumb pressed into her nub and she arched her hips forward, closer to him. Her thigh stroked his bulge, and he had to shift his own leg just so he wouldn't get overstimulated. His fingers thrusted into her once, twice—finally, he felt her melt into him, but he kept his pace. She twitched, then moaned. He curled his fingers inside of her and she twitched again.

Carson quickly moved on top of her, pulling down his undergarments and replacing his fingers with his bulging member. She gasped at the sudden weight on top of her, but her body quickly adjusted and she was moving with him again. With her body, and her sounds, and her face looking up at him, Carson knew he would not last long. But he tried not to get too excited, for her sake. She was different than he remembered—looser, more slick than last time. Perhaps it was him who made her that way, or it was Charlie... but he did not want to think about her. Or Grigg, or Alice, or anyone. It was only Elsie; she was all that mattered in that moment. He moved in and out of her, just like his fingers did, but it all became too much; her face, her body, her warmth. Her breasts bounced, moving as he did. Her hands clutched his shoulders, and her eyes were squeezed shut—finally he felt his own release, and he repressed a moan as he spilled all of his love inside of her.

He fell on top of her—perhaps al little too carelessly, for she grunted slightly. He kissed her again; her fingers entangled in his disheveled hair. "That wasn't exactly talking," she told Carson quietly as he rested his head on her shoulder.

He was still trying to catch his breath. "No... No, it was not." Her fingers began tracing his bare back. He was too tired to talk now. All that mattered now was sleep. They would talk in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> M rated stories aren't exactly my specialty, but I tried. It helped that I already knew how it would play out like five chapters back.


	24. Chapter 24

A Charlie That Came To Dinner

* * *

"Stirling?"

"That would have been her name," said Elsie, "had she been born a boy."

He hesitated before asking, "And you like that name?"

"I'm fond of it," she told him. "It was my grandmother's maiden name and my uncle's name—my father's brother."

"What was your father's name?"

Her feet, too short to meet his own at the end of the bed, rubbed against his bare legs. He was soft and warm, and far hairier than she was. The many years of standing made her feet callused and rough, but she was sure his weren't any better. He didn't seem to mind them, her feet; he even scooted closer towards her so she could reach him better. At least she had trimmed toenails. His hand moved to softly stroke her bare shoulder, the only part of her body not hidden beneath the sheets.

"Alasdair," she said. "Alasdair Irving Hughes. And, and my mother was called Anne."

They should have been up hours ago. The sun had long been out, the birds had long been singing, the workers had long been working—and yet they were still in bed. Talking, like he said they would, about anything and everything. Charlie would surely wonder where she was—where they both were, perhaps. Was it still morning or had they gone into the afternoon already? She could not tell by the natural lighting beaming into their room. And she was too lazy to lift up her head to look at the clock behind her.

"But... you chose to call her Charlie," he said after a moment.

"No. I chose to call her Charlotte," she told him. And she shifted slightly, noting the soreness between her legs. It hadn't been like last time. None of it—not even the morning after. "The name Charlie came a bit later. When she was older."

He almost looked disappointed at her words. Elsie really wasn't planning on naming her Charlotte. She spent most of her pregnancy hoping Charlie would come out a boy; the world they lived in was far too unkind to girls, but she didn't dare tell Charles that. He might no agree.

"Peter and Charlie sounded better than Peter and Charlotte," Elsie continued.

His eyes drifted quickly away from her. Perhaps she shouldn't have mentioned Peter. She had never seen him look so disheveled—hair untidy and face unshaved, for the first time she was seeing a man and not Lord Grantham's butler. He cleared his throat, and she felt a slight pain in her stomach. She could not understand why. "Elsie, erm, what do you think of us having... a more proper wedding?"

Her heart skipped a beat. "A more proper wedding?"

"Once we've settled in somewhere, of course," Charles continued, turning back to her. "We'll have it at the local church, and the reverend can do the service. You can even have a proper walk down the aisle."

She blinked. Not shocked exactly. Maybe a bit surprised by his words. "Who would even walk me down? My father's dead—and I haven't got any brothers. I suppose there's Charlie or—" She stopped quickly, hoping he didn't catch on. And if he had, hoping he wasn't offended.

His eyes still sparkled, which seemed like a good sign. After a slight awkward pause, he told her, "That isn't exactly how it's done properly... but if that's who you want."

"Charlie, you mean?"

"Or..."

Was he thinking of the same person she was. She decided to risk it. "Or... or Joe."

"Or Joe," Charles echoed, but he did not seem upset.

She shifted again, finally turning to check the time on the clock. "It's nearing lunch time," Elsie said in a soft voice. "Charlie might be wondering where we are..."


	25. Chapter 25

A Charlie That Came To Dinner

* * *

They dressed to face the day. Elsie felt a bit shy dressing in front of him; she was no young lady in her coming out season, but she was his wife. Charles, of course, dressed far more quickly than her. And he patiently waited for her to at the foot of the bed, searching in yesterday's newspaper for job listings. Some Lord nearby seemed in desperate need for a new cook—it was a bit out of the way, and Elsie correctly assumed he had no skills for such a prestigious position. A man more locally needed a few working men to help move a few boxes at his shop, but it wasn't anything permanent. He decided to put down the newspaper when Elsie began working on her hair. She saw his reflection in the mirror, watching her intently as she worked.

"I... erm, used to watch my mother do this," he told her softly. And she smiled, because she used to watch her mother too. Perhaps all children watched their mothers. His eyes drifted and he motioned to the floor below him. "Except I would be sitting on the floor—right around here—with my wooden toy train..." It was hard to imagine Mr. Carson with anything but livery and silver, much less a toy. What did a young Charles Carson look like, she wondered?

"My mother would always do mine and Becky's hair first—it was always a bit difficult with Becky," she said. Becky's hair wasn't quite the same since their mother passed; she refused to allow anyone, even Elsie, to touch it. There were now so many knots and tangles in it, not even the strongest brush could tame it, which was a shame because she always had beautiful hair. "She never quite got used to having hands messing with her hair..."

His face looked back up at hers as Elsie placed the final pins in her hair. She looked the same as she always did—perhaps a bit more rested and a lot less anxious than before, but she recognized the person staring back at her. And she wondered why she was so worried about it all. She quickly put on her hat and turned to Charles, a bit shyly. "I'm ready," she said as he stood to grab their coats. "We best not keep Charlie any longer."

Simon was downstairs in the kitchen tending to poor Mrs. Lane. Charles greeted them quickly, and told them they would be back after nightfall—they agreed earlier that day they would be having dinner with Charlie and Joe. Simon stood just after Mrs. Lane introduced him again to Charles as Jerry. The poor woman was out of her mind. Elsie wondered if she had any family members nearby who could care for her. Clearly whoever Gene and Molly were—the names she called Charles and Elsie—needed to be the ones running the house.

"You've had a telegram earlier today, Mr. Carson," said Simon quickly. "I would have delivered it to your room, only... I didn't want to disturb you." He glanced at Elsie, and she felt her face heat up. They were married; she shouldn't feel embarrassed about it, but she was.

"Thank you, Simon," said Charles, observing the envelope just placed in his hands. She noticed his face lighten at the sight of it. Charles nodded at the young man as he opened the door for Elsie.

"It's from the factory," he told her on their way to the farm, though his focus was on the telegram. "I seem to have made quite the impression yesterday. The owner wants me to come back tomorrow to meet his partners and... the other foremen." He sounded shocked and almost disappointed at the news, and she told him such. "Well, truth be told, Elsie, I... was hoping it would be Lord Grantham..."

Of course. She offered him only a look of condolence and nothing more, too afraid she might sound harsh if she said anything in that moment. As his wife, she would have to learn to console him. Elsie knew he would go—he had to. What choice did he have? But he was clearly not happy about it, and Charlie might not be too happy either.

She turned her attention forward; they weren't too far away from the far—she could now smell it, the scent of the cows growing stronger with each passing step. Joe's workers were out working on the field, but she saw no sign of Joe or Charlie outside. Perhaps they had gone inside to prepare lunch in Elsie's absence. They greeted the workers with a quick wave before making their way towards the house.

Charles knocked, and they waited a good five minutes before Joe opened the door. He looked relieved at the sight of them—more so the sight of Elsie. "Thank Christ you're here—I thought you'd never come," he said.

And Elsie felt a pain in her stomach. "What is it? What's happened?"

"Is something wrong?" asked Charles. She could sense the concern in his voice. Elsie hoped it was nothing more than the death of that lizard she found yesterday, but there was no telling. Perhaps Charles thought she had run off again—but that didn't seem like something Charlie would do twice.

"It's Charlie..." Joe's eyes seemed only focused on Elsie. "She's, erm, well... it's probably best if she tells you."


	26. Chapter 26

A Charlie That Came To Dinner

* * *

She knocked lightly on the wooden door. "Charlie," she called. Joe Burns stayed a few feet back, looking pale and uncomfortable. He encouraged Carson to do the same, but like a fool he ignored him.

He knocked on the wooden door with much greater force than Elsie. He hoped he hadn't freighted the poor girl. "Erm, Charlie—may we come in?" They could hear her weeping on the other side of the door, though they were muffled cries. He thought the worst had been over with; maybe it was a delayed reaction.

"No," said Charlie, loud and clear, and very emotional. "Go away!"

Elsie knocked again, much more gently than Carson could ever manage. "You have to tell us what's happened," she said. "How else can we help you?"

Charlie said nothing, but her crying grew more frantic. After a moment, Joe Burns cleared his throat to get their attention. "I, erm, think I might know... what's happened," he said. He stood there for a quick moment, before he awkwardly led them to the unlit fireplace in the room Charlie had discovered her true parentage. "She, er, tried to burn it... after she discovered it."

Something white but covered in ash—with splotches of something red that Carson could not quite identify—sat amongst the wooden logs. He picked it up to further examine it. It appeared to be Charlie's sleeping gown. Completely ruined, of course—they would have to buy her a new one. It had long been cooled, thankfully, but some of the ash fell from the gown onto Joe Burns perfectly clean floor. His muttered apology was completely drowned out by Elsie's sudden gasp. She took the garment out of his hand and hurried her way back to the door. Carson was quick to follow her. And she knocked once more.

"You're not dying," said Elsie, and the weeping subsided for a quick moment before it continued on. He looked at the garment in Elsie's hands, and Carson realized quickly the red splotches were blood. Oh dear—she isn't dying? It was those hands again, no doubt. But how did they get on her gown? "If you let me in, I can explain everything to you."

"Er—we both can," said Carson quickly. He turned to Elsie, hoping for some reassurance. He was new to this parenting thing, after all. But instead her cheeks turned a slight pink as she glanced at both Carson and Joe Burns. Joe quickly excused himself to the kitchen.

"I think this is a matter between a mother and a daughter, Mr. Car—Charles," she said softly, her cheeks turning pinker. "Why don't you go help Joe with whatever he's doing in the kitchen?"

Oh? He looked at her quizzically as the sound of Charlie weeping on the other end of the door continued on. It was clear Charlie was in a bad way. He was not a man who knew a great deal about comfort or delicacy, but he could certainly try, for his own daughter's sake. He tried for Elsie the night before, and now he was determined to try for Charlie too. He grabbed the garment out of Elsie's delicate hands. A bit too harshly, by her expression. "She is just as much my daughter as she is yours, Elsie."

"I know this, Charlie, but—"

"And I may not know her as well as you do, but that is still no excuse to push me away." He looked down at the garment; the blood was really quite a lot for being from her fingers, even if all ten of them bled at once. "I thought we settled all this. No more secrets. No more lies..." And how did it get so far down her dress? The stain looked closer to her bottom than to her... _Oh_.

He quickly fell silent. Elsie quietly took the garment back as Carson stood there, simply gaping at it. And she knocked again. "Charlie, can you please unlock the door?"

The door unlocked with a slight click, but it did not open. Elsie turned to Carson again with her eyebrows raised high. "You can come in if you like—it is your right, after all—but I want to be the one to explain this to her."

He cleared his throat. "No, no—erm, it... it should be you," he said quickly, feeling his face heat up. "I'll just... I'll go help... in the kitchen, I mean."

"Right you are," she said.

He watched as she opened the door. Charlie, her crying mostly stopped, sat hunched over on top of a small bed. His eyes locked with hers for a quick moment before Elsie closed the door again. Carson made his way into the kitchen where Joe Burns sat reading a newspaper. He cleared his throat to get the man's attention. The man greeted Carson with a nod before turning back to the paper.

"They, er, should be in there for a while," said Carson gently. He searched the room for something to comment on. The dog Charlie was so fond of sat below Joe's feet—but Carson already forgot what its name was, so he did not mention it. A few pots and pans piled up in the sink—if he were a woman, perhaps he would start cleaning them. No, he would leave that for Elsie... or Joe, or whoever did those types of chores in this house, his house. He fiddled with his hands as he searched, hoping to find something to distract him.

His mind wandered to the foreman position. The people were nice enough and the pay would be manageable, but he would be amongst all the new machines—and Carson much preferred tradition over progression. It was easier to manage all this new age change when he was reading it in a Dickens novel. What would happen in the next year or so? Would he become an exaggerated character? The very same ones Carson often mocked and ridiculed?

Joe put down his paper and stood. Carson shifted from one foot to the other. "I should... get back to work," he said.

"Is it anything I can help with?" said Carson. He owed the man a great deal; it was the least he could do.

The man shook his head. He was short and plump, but his eyes were kind. "I've got my workers... that should be plenty hands," said Joe. "Just... stay here. Look after those two." He gestured to the wall. Elsie and Charlie stood behind it, talking about... well, talking about things mothers and daughters should talk about. Carson nodded and Joe smiled. He owed the man a great, great debt. Not even King George had enough money to repay his kindness.

Carson spent the next hour waiting. His mind skipped from the factory, to his life at Downton, to his future away from Downton... It was all he had ever known for so long. Too long, perhaps. Would he even be a good father? Elsie must think him daft for not realizing immediately. He should have known it was... well, _that_ when he saw the blood. And he should have known Charlie was his daughter the moment he set eyes on her in the kitchen—it all became too overwhelming for him, so he decided to clean the dirty pots and pans to distract his mind.

He scrubbed and he scrubbed, hoping that it might remove all his anxieties as well as the many stains. He imagined waking up in a bed that was his, and Elsie's, and getting ready for work each morning. Elsie would be downstairs—because he deserved to have a house with an upstairs—making breakfast. The three of them would eat together in a comfortable silence. And then, when it was time, he would kiss Elsie's cheek—on more affectionate days, her lips—and pat the top of Charlie's head, and then bid them farewell and journeyed to the factories. He stopped scrubbing, staring blankly out the window where Joe Burns and his men tirelessly worked; it didn't sound quite as bad as he had previously thought. The hours would be long, but nothing as time consuming as a Butler's duties.

"I can do that," said Elsie, sounding almost shocked. His eyes quickly focused again and his mind went blank. He turned to her. She gave him a comforting smile as she made her way over to him. After a moment, she took the pan and sponge from his hands and she began scrubbing it, much more softer than him. "Don't fret, Mr. Carson. The worst is over now."

"It went well, then?"

Her eyebrows lifted. "As well as it could have gone," said Elsie. "These conversations are never easy..."

"No," he said, turning from her quickly. She was his wife now. He had bedded her, twice now. And yet he could still not speak of it. Not in the daylight, anyway. "No, I suppose not."

"She's resting now," she said.

Such a talk would need quite a bit of rest afterwards. He wouldn't press her for details. She smiled almost shyly when he glanced at her. And Carson quickly realized... He shifted his stance, and turned back to her. She was too distracted by the pan to notice his sudden worry. "Elsie?"

"I told her I would make some tea later..."

"Erm, Elsie... you're not...?" How should he begin such a conversation? In a stranger's home? "I mean—we don't have to worry about...?" He let out a deep breath. Perhaps he shouldn't have rushed things last night. Would he be able to do it with a baby?

Her eyebrows lifted and her face turned a slight pink. "It's a bit late to be asking me that, Charlie," she whispered. And then she turned to him fully, her expression softening. "No. I wouldn't rule out impossible, but it would take a little more than a miracle at my age."

Carson nodded, too flustered to speak. The idea of starting over—or starting for the first time—did sound nice, in its own special way, but they were both far too old to have another baby. And Charlie really needed to be their main focus.

"She wants to stay with us tonight," continued Elsie. "I think she's a bit embarrassed being here alone with Joe." She paused and hesitated for a moment. "I told her it was all right. It is all right, isn't it?"

"Yes, yes, of course," said Carson. But where would she sleep? He could sleep on the floor while they can have the bed, but they would have to change the sheets.

"I think Simon mentioned Mrs. Lane having an old military camp bed somewhere. It won't be the most comfortable thing to sleep on, but it should be fine for a few nights." He nodded; he could sleep on it if Charlie complained. "I'll go after we've had our tea. You can stay here and help Charlie gather her things. And then you can walk her down."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it wasn't clear enough. Charlie got her period. I was going to do it in the POV of Elsie, but I didn't want to write yet another sex talk. Anyway, thank you so much for all of your comments on this fic :)


	27. Chapter 27

A Charlie That Came To Dinner

* * *

She kicked the dirt as she walked, her posture hunched and very unladylike. But he wouldn't say anything. Not now. She fiddled with her hands, the same way he did whenever he felt nervous or unsure—and he would being do so now, if it weren't for the bags Carson was carrying for her. He held onto them tightly.

"You... really didn't know?" It was the first time she had spoken to him since they told her.

The sun was just setting. Elsie made everyone sandwiches that afternoon, and then later they had some tea. Charlie refused to leave her room to join them, but they agreed not to force her. Elsie brought some food and tea to her room anyway. She didn't touch much and hardly spoke to either of them. Elsie left a few hours later to speak with Mrs. Lane and Simon, leaving Carson alone with Charlie and Joe Burns. They packed her bags together—though Carson mostly watched.

"Not until she told me, no," he shamefully admitted to her.

She waited a moment before continuing. "Joe says you're staying with Mrs. Lane."

He nodded. "We are."

Charlie smiled slightly; it was good to see her smile. Had he ever seen her smile? "Everyone says she's become an invalid..."

Carson cleared his throat. "Her mind has gone a bit, but she's not an unkind woman."

"No," she said, and her smile faded. "Her son died some years ago. Offed himself with a... well, with something. His widowed wife lives somewhere nearby, I think, but she never visits. Mrs. Lane's been off her rocker ever since..." He did not condone tasteless gossip or terrible rumors about friends or strangers, but he was grateful for the clarification. Everyone in the house never attempted to correct the woman or get angry with her for calling them the wrong name. Now he knew why.

Charlie stopped quickly, and Carson followed her. "Don't tell Joe I told you. He doesn't know I know—but everyone in the village knows."

He turned his attention to the setting sun; it would be dark soon, but they were close to the village and they should arrive at the house before the stars became too prominent. Carson turned back to her. "I won't tell him," he assured her.

She let out a breath of relief, and they continued walking. He felt a small gust of wind blow his coat and hat—he had to drop one of Charlie's bags to keep his hat on his head—and Carson wondered if more rain was to come for them. He heavily preferred sunny days over rainy ones, but nature seemed to think differently.

Charlie reached to pick up the bag he had dropped. "No, you don't have to... I can carry—"

"I get paid two pence per bag," she said. "I'd much rather be carrying them both."

"Oh..." He looked at her for a quick moment before he started fumbling for loose change in his coat pocket with his free hand.

After a quick moment of awkward silence, she said, "I wasn't being serious. You don't have to pay me." But he continued searching. "I don't mind carrying my own things."

"No, it's all right," he said, pulling out two coins for her. "Here."

She simply stared at his open hand. "You can't pay me to like you."

And his heart sank to the pit of his stomach. "I, erm, am sorry.—"

But she took the coins quickly just as he was about to close his hand. "Well, you _can_ ," she said, "but you shouldn't."

And she continued walking. Carson was quick to catch up. "You have to... give me some time to adjust," he told her after a moment. "I haven't ever—I've never been a father before, you see..."

She shrugged. "I've never been a daughter before."

Carson smiled at her remark, but her face turned serious. And she turned away from him. "I know you left Downton because of me. Elsie won't admit it—you probably won't either—but I know that to be the truth."

They left for a lot of reasons, but mostly because Lord Grantham told them to. "A girl your age shouldn't have to worry about such things." Carson and Elsie were the ones truly at fault; their mistake thirteen or so years ago is the reason they were all there. But no, it wasn't a mistake. He refused to call his love for Elsie a mistake. He refused to call his daughter a mistake. "It's all... very complicated. That's all I'll say about the matter to you." The wind blew hard again and he grabbed hold of his hat. He could see the house clearly in the distance. Charlie quickened her pace, so he did too. "But it isn't your fault," he added softly, but he did not think she heard him.

They arrived just as the rain started to fall. He moved to open the door for her, like a father should, but she entered without waiting for him. He followed her inside. Mrs. Lane sat alone in a comfy brown chair near the lit fireplace with a pair of knitting needles in her hands. She acted as if she were knitting something, but she didn't have any fabric beside her. "Hello, Gene," she greeted Carson. He nodded awkwardly towards her. "I'm knitting some socks for Princess Victoria. She's come for a visit."

So, she thought Charlie was Princess Victoria. Elsie must have tried her best to explain it to her. He hoped everyone else was informed.

"You haven't got any fabric, Mrs. Lane," said Charlie.

She looked down at her lap. "Oh, how silly of me," she said, and her eyes searched around the room. She then looked up at Charlie. "Will you go get me some, dear? It's just in that chest over there." She pointed to the small wooden chest on the other side of the nodded and handed Carson the bag she carried.

"I'll take these up for you," Carson told Charlie, lifting her bags. "Come up when you're done. We're upstairs. The second door to the left."

"Be kind to the princess, Gene," said Mrs. Lane as he exited. "She's upstairs with Molly."

He ascended the steep wooden steps and walked to the room he shared with Elsie, and now Charlie. Tomorrow would be long, he knew. Maybe Elsie and Charlie could come with him, and they can look at houses afterwards. He opened the door to their room, and he was instantly greeted by the soft voice of his wife:

"I'm not so sure Lord Grantham would approve, milady—"

"He knows that I'm here, if that's what you're worried about," said another familiar voice.

His breath caught and he entered the room quickly. Elsie stood by the mirror while Lady Mary was closer to their bed. Their eyes immediately went to Carson. He closed the door behind him.

"Hello Carson," Lady Mary greeted, and he set Charlie's bags aside.

"Lady Mary, I..." He turned to Elsie, expecting an answer from her, but she looked just as baffled as he felt. "We weren't expecting you to come. I, er, hope everything is all right at the house."

"To be perfectly honest, no," said Lady Mary. "Everything went to shambles the second you two left," said Lady Mary, and Carson bowed his head in shame. "We've been barely afloat these last few days."

"Well, I wish we could have stayed long enough to help hire our replacements, but Lord Grantham..." He stopped. They should have informed His Lordship immediately, like Carson wanted to.

Lady Mary let out a soft sigh. "Lord Grantham let his hurt feelings get the better of him and he took it out on you." She paused slightly, moving closer to Carson. "He regretted his words almost immediately after saying them, Carson, but by the time we arrived at the station, you had already left." There was no time to wait; they needed to find Charlie. "If it hadn't been for that letter you sent to Mrs. Patmore, we might have never been able to find you..."

The door opened again, and Carson moved aside to let Charlie enter. Elsie shifted slightly while Carson's hands found Charlie's shoulders. Charlie jerked slightly at his touch.

Lady Mary looked at Charlie carefully, and then her eyes moved back up to Carson. "Who's this?"

Carson glanced at Elsie, who nodded. "This is, er, Charlie..."

"Our daughter, milady," said Elsie.

"Oh."


	28. Chapter 28

A Charlie That Came To Dinner

* * *

Silence quickly filled the room. Elsie could hear the rain and wind from outside grow harsher with each passing moment. But she focused only on Charlie, as did everyone else in the room. Her head was low and her posture poor. Avoiding everyone's frightful gaze, Charlie's eyes concentrated only on the wooden surface below her feet. Charles' hands kept a firm grip on her shoulders, keeping her still—but she did not seem eager to move. And her face was a bright shade of red.

Elsie cleared her throat to get her attention, but she did not look up. "Charlie," she said softly. Charlie's gaze remained on the wooden floor, but her head tilted just as Charles squeezed her shoulders slightly to get her attention. "Why don't you go downstairs for a little bit. We'll come get you once we've finished up here."

Charles let go of her shoulders and Charlie fled the room without lifting her head. She slammed the door on her way out, whether intentionally or not, but no one seemed startled or bothered by it. Elsie turned to Charles, whose face was pale and filled with worry—but once his eyes found Lady Mary's, he sucked it all up and hid those emotions well. He must have felt mortified; Lady Mary, however, only looked stunned, and perhaps a little bit confused.

"Now I understand why you left the house so quickly," said Lady Mary quietly, her eyes glued to the door Charlie had slammed. Outside, amongst the rain and wind, thunder could be heard in the distance.

"I tried to inform His Lordship," Charles began, his voice breathless and shaky.

And Lady Mary nodded. "I have no doubt you did, but I'm sure his anger and stubbornness wouldn't allow you to get a single word out."

That was exactly what happened. Elsie knew not telling Lord Grantham ate Charles up inside, but she was fine with him never knowing. It was the business of Charles Carson and Elsie Hughes only; not Lord Grantham, or Lady Mary—or anyone else, for that matter. But she knew Charles didn't see it that way. And maybe they did have some right to know about some of it.

"So, you left to see her," continued Lady Mary, her eyes back on Charles. "That's what kept you in Bradford?"

Charles hummed as he shifted his stance. His eyes went to Elsie, seeking her reassurance. "It's a bit more complicated than that, milady," said Elsie when Charles could not find the words.

She didn't want to tell her, no matter how much she had the right to know. The room fell silent again since Elsie refused to be the one to confess their sins to her. But after a short moment, Charles cleared his throat and found his words again.

He addressed their affair briefly, shamefully stating Elsie had Charlie while they were still unmarried. And then he admitted his own ignorance of it all, how he never knew of Charlie's existence until recently—Elsie truly felt like the villain in his story, and perhaps she was. They agreed that morning they were both at fault for it all: he should have married her; Elsie should have told him; they should have talked about their sin afterwards, instead of bottling it all up.

"It wasn't until she arrived at Downton as the new scullery maid..."—Charles glanced at Elsie—"Well, I found out the truth... and we married soon after."

Elsie saw Lady Mary gulp and then sigh. "I don't think anyone downstairs knows," said Lady Mary after a moment, her voice filled with shock. "Anna or Gwen would have—if they did, I think we would have known by now..."

No one should know. Not at Downton. It was a secret Elsie kept locked up with double chains in a steel chest box; she never told anyone before she told Charles. She even stopped telling herself the truth when it became unbearable. "This is why we cannot return to Downton with you, milady," said Elsie.

"Return to Downton?" questioned Charles, and hope shone in his sparkling eyes.

"I've come here to ask you back," explained Lady Mary, but with a hint of reluctance in her voice.

The hope faded quickly from his eyes. "Elsie—that is, Mrs. Hughes and I—we do not wish to bring any more scandal to you or your family... or to the great house that is Downton Abbey. Our return to Downton would only tarnish Lord Grantham's good name..."

"But—where will you go? What will you do?" She turned to the small bed Elsie had set up for Charlie in the corner, and then the large bed beside it. "The three of you certainly can't live here for the rest of your lives."

Elsie felt her blood boil at her comment. It was certainly no grand room at Downton, but it had its proper functions and they weren't going to stay in one room for the rest of their lives—they would find a new place to call home, eventually.

Charles hesitated for a moment before telling her, "I've been looking in on a foreman position near here..."

She huffed in disbelief. "But you're a Butler, Carson, not a foreman."

"I've become a great many things this past week, milady," he said, a soft watery glaze forming in his eyes. "But Butler is a title I must leave behind. No one's more sorry than I am to admit this."

Elsie's anger subsided a little. She knew Lady Mary's intentions were good, no matter how arrogant she sounded. She truly cared for Charles' well-being—and, because she was now married to him, she might also care about Elsie's well-being.

"Carson..." Lady Mary started, but she fell silent quickly. She could not find the words—or maybe, like Elsie, she simply did not desire to speak them. The rain fell heavy outside, hitting the window with great force, but no one in the room seemed bothered; they all stood silently, frozen in time, like a photograph or a painting. But it was far from an awkward silence; it was more like a silence used when mourning. Finally, after a long moment, Lady Mary moved towards the door. Charles moved towards it too, walking like the Butler Lady Mary had known him to be all her life. Thunder rumbled outside.

"Do you have a place to stay, milady," Charles asked. He was fond of her, there was no doubt about it. And now he had to say goodbye. Forever, most likely.

"I'm taking the last train out." Lightning followed soon after, illuminating their dimly lit room for a brief moment. "Although, in this weather, I'm not sure I'll make it to the station on time..."

He opened the door and Lady Mary moved to exit. Suddenly he was Mr. Carson again, Butler at Downton Abbey. Not husband... or father, just Butler. "I'll see if there's a car available to take you."

It would all change tomorrow. He would leave as former Butler and come back as a foreman. That was what they hoped, at least. "Thank you, Carson."

Lady Mary turned back to Elsie, acknowledging her briefly before walking out. And Charles Carson's brave face faded quickly the second he could no longer see her.

"You should go find Charlie," he told Elsie in a quiet voice. He continued to hold the door, but he had somehow transformed back into Charles, the man who had made love to her—twice now; the man who had carried his daughter's bags up to their room for her. The rumbling outside shook the room slightly.

Elsie nodded. But instead of leaving, she moved close towards him. "I don't want you out in this longer than you need to, Charles."

He looked at her, confused. He would put his own life on the line if it meant Lady Mary would have a lifetime of happiness. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying... be kind," she told him softly, "but don't break your back for her." His eyebrows lifted, and her hand found his arm. "She's not in charge of you. Not anymore."


	29. Chapter 29

A Charlie That Came To Dinner

* * *

Carson walked along the dirt path, Downton Abbey looking at him in the distance. But he was not going there—he could not go there. When the pathway split, he chose to go left, and Downton Abbey disappeared behind the ominous grey clouds in the sky. He walked quietly along the path, humming an old tune he had openly sung on stage once with Grigg—but those days were long behind him. Carson continued humming until he reached the cottage; it was small and old, but it was home to him and his family. He felt the soft rumble of the storm in the distance, but the rain had yet to reach him. He entered the cottage, a sigh of relief escaping his mouth as he removed his hat and placed it on the small table.

"Dada's home," he announced to an empty room. A cry caught his ear and he quickly did away with his coat, rushing into the next room towards a shaking bassinet. "What's all this, then?" he cooed, lifting up the babe to cradle in his arms. He continued to fuss, so Carson began to bounce him slightly. A mirror on the wall showed him dressed in his evening livery—it was, after all, nearly dinner time. "Where's your mother gone off to now?" he wondered aloud, looking around the empty servant's hall. Perhaps she was making her rounds. He heard Mrs. Patmore yelling in the kitchen. The dressing gong sounded and he realized the time—he was late. Very, very late. He exited the room quickly with the baby securely in his arms.

"Ah, there you are, Carson," said Lord Grantham, who was at the table. The family all sat around him: the Dowager sitting at his side; Lady Grantham across from him; Lady Edith and Lady Sybil beside her; and Lady Mary at the end of the table, a happy smile on her face. Thomas and William were already serving them.

"I... apologize for my tardiness, milord," he said, hurrying to fetch the pitcher to fill their wine glasses. The baby stirred in his arms. "I don't know what happened. I must have been distracted..." He could hear the rain fall hard outside.

"Never mind, Carson. These things happen," said Lord Grantham, his attention on Lady Grantham. Thunder roared outside, shaking the house; what terrible weather they were having as of late. The poor babe began to cry. Carson soothed him, trying to shush him so he wouldn't disturb the dinner. But Lord Grantham and the others seemed unbothered. Carson filled their glasses.

"What do you think, Carson?" asked Lady Mary suddenly—but he had not heard their conversation.

"The Honorable Evelyn Napier's visit is most welcome—though, I must admit, I'm a bit hesitant about the Turkish gentleman that he's insistent on bringing," he answered her anyway, and she nodded in agreement at his comment.

"I have to agree with Carson here," said the Dowager. Lightning struck somewhere near them outside, but everyone was too distracted with their dinner to care; the lights Lord Grantham installed flickered slightly. "Foreigners never quite understand our customs." She looked to Lady Grantham, who blushed slightly at her abrupt comment, and Carson thought of Mrs. Levinson—the dreadful woman.

Thunder continued to rumble outside and the room shook again. Carson's eyes opened. He awoke to the sound heavy of rain banging on the window and soft breathing beside him. It was a dream; he had only been dreaming, and he was not at Downton or a cottage, but in a room with Elsie... and Charlie—it was coming back to him now: he had walked Charlie to the house earlier, before the sun had gone down. Lady Mary was there when they arrived.

He licked his lips. His mouth was terribly dry, and he was desperate for a glass of water—and perhaps after that a shot of whiskey or some wine to ease his anxieties. Lady Mary was long gone now, safely returned to Downton. A taxi had taken her to the station, after Simon had gone out to fetch it for her, the generous lad. Carson would have done so himself, but Lady Mary wanted some time to talk alone... and Elsie told him not to.

"Can you sleep?" whispered Charlie in the distance. Carson felt Elsie shift beside him. She was closer to him than she had been their first few nights together as man and wife; their closeness the night before must have made her feel more at ease at the idea of sharing a bed with him now.

"No," Elsie said, equally as quiet.

"I feel awful," continued Charlie after a moment. His heart sank at her despair; he hoped she wasn't falling ill or anything—they had enough troubles already. "It feels like sharp needles are poking at my stomach..."

"That's expected. It shouldn't last your entire cycle—mine never do." Oh, that... again. Perhaps he should clear his throat to let them know he was awake too.

"Can I come lie with you for a bit?" she asked softly, almost hesitantly, and he heard Elsie hum as she moved closer towards him—her soft legs brushing against his pajama bottoms, and her own bottom resting on his thigh. She lifted the sheet covering her and Carson both. The mattress moved slightly and the old wooden bed frame creaked at the new weight as Charlie climbed into bed with them. But he did not see her figure move in the darkness; his eyes had yet to adjust. Thunder continued its rumbling outside.

Charlie and Elsie adjusted into their new positions and the bed creaked with them. They settled after a moment—Elsie's bottom no longer rested on his thigh, but her rough calloused feet rubbed against his own. Lightning illuminated the room for a moment, and he caught a brief glimpse at the two beside him. Charlie rested her head on Elsie's arm; Elsie had her other arm around Charlie.

"This reminds me of when you were first born," started Elsie. "We lived upstairs over a public wash-house. The owner took pity on me and let us stay for half the pay—on the condition I work extra hours during the day. There was only one bed, no cradle, so at night I'd lie awake watching you sleep in my arms." Carson felt guilt overflow him; she hadn't told him any of that. The image of his wife and infant child alone in an old run down room would now reside permanently in his mind.

He waited for Charlie's response, but she said nothing. "Charlie... I have loved you," continued Elsie, keeping her voice low but steady. "I know I haven't showed it well, but—"

"No, you have," said Charlie softly. "You were the first to come running when I fell out of that tree and hurt my arm." She didn't tell Carson that either. She knew so much more than he did, than he might ever know.

Elsie chuckled softly, and her feet pulled away from him slightly. "I'm surprised you remember that," she said. "You were so little. Too little to be climbing trees..."

"That was... Lady Mary, wasn't it? Who showed up tonight?" said Charlie after a moment.

Elsie hesitated before replying, "Yes."

Carson thought back to his conversation with Lady Mary earlier that night. She asked—just to make sure—if everyone at Downton knew Charlie as the scullery maid. He told her yes. But they all knew her as Charlotte. She had a sort of glimmer in her eye for a moment, and then she touched his arm.

"Come with me to Downton, Carson," she told him. And his heart fluttered and his face lit up. He knew it would never be possible, but before he could interject, she continued, "Lord Grantham ought to hear the truth from you. You owe him that much." He opened his mouth to speak again, but she still refused to let him. "Besides, I doubt he'll believe any of it if it comes from me..."

He pulled away reluctantly from her touch, and his heart broke into two seeing her face fall. "The matter's already been settled, milady. I'm sorry." She turned away, too sad or perhaps too angry to face him fully.

A soaking wet and breathless Simon entered the house quickly, interrupting their moment, with an old black umbrella in his hands. "The car's just coming up the road now, milady," Simon told her.

Lady Mary smiled at him, but it was not one of her genuine smiles. "Thank you," she said. "At least I can count on one person here today." And Carson's heart shattered.

Before he could apologize again, Simon opened the door and led Lady Mary out into the rain and wind, holding the umbrella above her head. But she turned to Carson one last time. "Goodbye Carson."

The door closed before he could utter a reply, and thunder roared outside—but was it real or from his memory? "Goodbye," he said softly, only to himself. He looked at the door for a long moment, before turning his heel. Charlie sat on the steps in front of him. She blinked at him; he wondered if she had heard their entire conversation—but he did not feel like questioning her, or lecturing her about eavesdropping. "Erm, let's go find... your mother, shall we? It must be about dinner time."

They did not speak during dinner—or rather, Charlie did not speak to him. And he did not speak to Elsie about Lady Mary either; he tried to, but he did not wish to send Charlie away again. Perhaps they could find some time tomorrow, before he had to leave again.

"She wanted... him to go back to Downton with her," Charlie told Elsie, bringing Carson out of his memories. He turned slightly towards her voice; so she had been eavesdropping.

Elsie sighed. "She—"

"He should have gone," continued Charlie in a whisper. "He likes it better than here."

"Try to get some sleep, Charlie," said Elsie quietly. "I know the storm's a bit loud..." But she did not finish her thought.

Carson turned and sighed, hoping to let them know he was also awake. Elsie's feet rubbed against him once again, but she did not speak. He listened to the rain outside and tried to fall back asleep.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said this was a 'don't think, just write' fic but now I kind of want to put some time into it and think about it, especially since I really want to get them back at Downton and I'm not quite sure how I can do that yet, so daily updates are probably not going to be a thing anymore. Anyway, here's chapter 30! 
> 
> Also, shoutout to all you readers. You are by far the best fandom I’ve ever encountered. You guys are just so interactive and I really appreciate all your comments on my fics. So, thanks!

A Charlie That Came To Dinner

* * *

He rose with the sun, and the singing rooster somewhere off in the distance. Elsie slept soundly in their bed with Charlie in her arms whilst he dressed and prepared for his departure. The weather, though less fierce than the night before, still had yet to clear. Thunder roared outside, shaking their room slightly, while buttoning his shirt. And lightening struck as he put on his tie. Would this be his life now? Early to rise, late to turn in—no, of course not; that was him before. But it was different somehow. A week ago he was Mr. Carson, Butler at Downton Abbey. Now he was Charlie Carson, husband, father, provider. The factory whistle would become his new dressing gong. Except it would be more like a Siren, luring Carson to his inevitable demise, along with the others. Oh, how he loathed to admit Dickens right.

His thoughts went to Lady Mary and their conversation. " _Come with me to Downton_ ," she had said. What if he had gone? And what if he did go? He would never, could never, but... there was no harm in contemplating. There would be talk in the village, of course. Lord Grantham would certainly never see him, or Elsie, the same way again, nor Lady Grantham. And the footmen and maids would see them as hypocrites for not practicing what they always preached to them. " _Do as I say, not as I do_ ," he might tell them in his strictest voice. They would lose all respect for him. And yet, he found that path far more appealing than the one he must choose. He felt so ashamed. Too ashamed to admit the truth to Elsie.

Carson adjusted his tie in the mirror. Elsie's reflection showed her moving from beneath the sheets, and then waking, gently sliding her arm out from underneath Charlie's head; their daughter—it still felt so foreign to say—stirred at the change, but did not wake. She turned on her stomach, away from Elsie. He watched as Elsie crawled out of bed on his side, her cotton nightgown scrunched and wrinkled just a little bit from sleep. He caught a brief glimpse of her knees and upper thighs as she rose, allowing himself to recall—for a quick moment—how perfectly they fit around his form the night before. She straightened her nightgown and his hands moved to adjust his suspenders.

"Did I wake you," Carson asked softly, keeping his eyes on her through the mirror. She yawned as she made her way towards him.

Elsie shook her head. Thunder rumbled outside.

"I should be back before lunch," he continued. "I don't know how long they'll keep me for, but I doubt I'll be there all day..."

With one gentle hand, Elsie turned him around to face her. The same hand moved to rest on his chest with the other following it quickly. She hesitated when touching him—still not quite sure of him. He pulled her closer to assure her, his large girth and her sagging breasts meeting. He glanced at Charlie, making sure she was still asleep, before he placed a soft but dignified kiss on his wife's lips.

Her hands moved to adjust his tie. "Do you think... we ought to talk about what happened last night?" she asked him quietly. "I'm told Lady Mary left in quite the hurry."

He nodded. "She asked me to return to Downton with her." Her expression shifted into concern, and he felt a slight unease in his stomach. Perhaps she was thinking similar to him, wondering if he would go. He couldn't... and he wouldn't. And to assure her, he quickly added, "Which I refused, of course..." But he trailed off, his grip on her loosening and his eyes wandering to the wall beside them.

"But?"

But he wished he hadn't.

His eyes returned to her. "But... I don't like the idea of Lady Mary being the one to tell Lord and Lady Grantham about our—" He stopped; he was going to say their sins, but he refused to call it that in front of her. "I intend to write a letter of apology to him—to them both."

He heard Charlie hum and then shift in their bed and he knew she had awoken. Carson let go of Elsie completely. Her hands fell back to her side as they both turned to Charlie. Carson cleared his throat. "We'll... erm, talk more once I've returned..."

"Right you are," she whispered before turning her attention to Charlie. He turned back to the mirror, watching Charlie and Elsie through the mirror.

He was just a train ride away from Downton. He could go there instead and Elsie would be none the wiser. "Do you want breakfast before you leave?" Elsie asked him by the bed.

Carson locked eyes with Charlie; they sparkled. Lightening flickered outside of their window. "I'll eat on the train," he said. Of course he could go and sort everything out—to the best of his ability—but he wouldn't. He couldn't.

* * *


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a busy few weeks. And I was already having some difficulty writing this chapter. Also, I'm sorry to say, but I'm slowly losing inspiration for this fic, but I'll try to keep it up bc I hate to see fics go unfinished.

A Charlie That Came To Dinner

* * *

"You're back." He hadn't recognized her at first. From a distance, she looked like a young lad—so much so, he was unsure if the boy beside her was actually a boy, or just another Charlie in disguise. He never found out, for he—or she—fled before Carson could get a closer look.

"I am," he said, adjusting his vest. The train whistled its departure behind him as he stepped off the platform and made his way towards her. The ground was wet and filled with puddles, but the sky had brightened since morning. "You sound surprised."

"The train for Downton doesn't arrive for another hour," she told him simply.

He cleared his throat and shifted his stance. How did she know? He, of course, had known—he had checked the route before he left. But how did she? He wondered if Elsie told her—he hadn't told Elsie he was going to check it, though. "I... I didn't go to Downton," he said formally. His eyes drifted to the boy—or girl—running from them. "Who's that?" he asked, hoping to change the subject.

Charlie too looked at the distant figure. "Little Robbie Willoughby. I go to school with him, or... I did," she told him. Her eyes lingered a bit on the boy before she turned back to Carson. "I thought Lady Mary wanted you to go back to Downton."

"She did, but..." But he would not go, could not go—no matter how much he desired to do so. And he did not feel comfortable explaining himself to her. Not until he discussed things further with Elsie. "But... you really shouldn't be listening to other people's conversations."

"Neither should you," Charlie said, her eyes sparkling. He hummed, wondering if Elsie also knew he had been awake last night. "It's all right—I don't mind. Not really. You and Elsie can go back to Downton. It's where you'd both much rather be." It might be true for him, but not for Elsie—that much he knew; she would rather be wherever Charlie was. "And I can stay here with Joe."

"Joe's not your father," he said without thinking. But he did not regret saying it. Charles Carson was her father, not Joe Burns.

She fiddled with her hands and avoided Carson's eyes. "I thought he was," Charlie confessed, and Carson felt an ache in his stomach. "With Ivy—I think I always knew she wasn't my... Well, she always treated Peter differently than me," she continued. "But it was never bad; it was just... different. And then there was this one time when Elsie visited the farm, she, er, kissed my cheek." A hand covered in dirt and dried blood lifted to rest on her right cheek. "No one had ever kissed me like that before—at least, I don't think." Her dirty hand fell quickly back to her side and she awkwardly looked back at Carson. "But with Joe... I dunno. I guess I never really had a moment like that with anyone else."

He stood awkwardly staring at her, his hands fidgeting in the same way her own hands had moved. He thought to kiss her cheek right then and there, to prove to her that he was her father, her provider. And she looked up at him, her chin at an angle, and her eyes... Her eyes. Whose were they? Not Elsie's, he was certain, and certainly not his own. But there was a familiarity to them. His mother's eyes, perhaps. But he couldn't really tell; it had been quite a while since he had seen those eyes. He should have leaned down and kissed her cheek but... he lost his nerve quickly. Instead he cleared his throat and looked up at the sky. The sun was beaming bright, not a storm cloud in sight.

"I'm headed back to the farm to check on Faye," Charlie continued softly, and his attention went back to her.

"Faye?" he questioned, and he quickly recalled the cow called Faye on Joe Burns' farm. "Er—the cow with the... who's with child," he added, answering his own question, and feeling his face heat at his own awkward mumbling.

Charlie nodded. "Elsie's resting back at the house. She slipped and fell into mud earlier."

He straightened. "Is she all right?"

"A bit bruised, I think," said Charlie. "She hates farming."

"Yes, well"—he cleared his throat and adjusted his stance—"I should, er, go tend to her, then..." But neither of them moved. His eyes drifted to the ground. Charlie wore work boots, battered and covered in mud. His shoes weren't quite as dirty, but he did step in _something_ —he wasn't quite sure exactly what—while touring the factory with the owner and a few of the workers. They all laughed, told him he would have to find proper footwear come Monday. Maybe Joe had some old boots he could borrow—though the man was so small, Carson might not fit in them. He could easily buy a pair at some nearby shop.

"I'm sorry I got you in trouble at Downton," Charlie said, and his head lifted to meet her gaze.

He got himself into that trouble at Downton, not her. That was what he should have told her. But instead he found himself saying, "That's... all in the past. You needn't worry about it now."

"I know it was wrong of me to leave like that, but... well, you know." He did know. Life of a servant was not for the stouthearted, and Charlie was filled with more fire than any child Carson had ever known—though, he had not known many children. The truth even Elsie later admitted was Charlie should have never been brought to Downton Abbey. But if she hadn't, he might have never known of her existence. "I'd much rather live on the streets than be ordered about by an old blind hag." His eyebrows rose in shock, but he said nothing. Perhaps one day he might find the courage to discipline her. She huffed and kicked the puddle beneath her; water soaked Carson's shoes and damped the cuffs of his trousers. "Elsie won't admit it—maybe to you, but not to me—but she wants to go back to Downton. You both do."

"That isn't..." he started, but he could not bring himself to lie to her. The sun shone brightly above them and birds chirped in the trees near them. But the guilt in his gut only grew stronger.

"Joe's invited you to dinner tonight." She turned swiftly in the direction of the farm and began walking. "Elsie's cooking—but, just to warn you, she isn't very good at it."


	32. Chapter 32

A Charlie That Came To Dinner

* * *

The sunlight shone through the window. Elsie busied herself by removing the sheets from the night before. Charlie had leaked in the night, so blood stained the white sheets—something Elsie assured was perfectly normal. She recalled such incidents in her life: waking in the middle of the night or the early hours of the morning, greeted by Mother Nature's dreadful surprise. The only time it hadn't come... well, Charlie was born not too long after. Elsie was no longer regular. That was normal at her age. And most of the time she assumed she had already gone through the change, but occasionally—very rarely—Mother Nature would come again and her sheets or a night gown, or sometimes even a dress, would have to be scrubbed clean, or thrown out entirely. Women were always perfectly helpful and understanding in those situations; it was the men who shriveled away at even the mention of it, or they were completely oblivious to women's menstruations, much like Charles the day before. She smiled to herself just thinking about it.

The door to their room opened, and Charles entered with his hat pressed against his chest and his eyes glazed over as if he were miles away somewhere—Downton, perhaps; he seemed to be looking at her without really looking at her.

"You're back," she greeted, and his eyes finally seemed to see her.

"I am," he said as he tossed his hat onto the small table, and then he removed his coat and placed it on the chair beside it.

He said nothing more, so Elsie filled the silence. "We're having dinner on the farm tonight," she said in a soft voice. Charles only nodded. "Joe invited us—and I said yes, and offered to cook." Both Joe and Charlie laughed at her offer, which was what made her lose her balance and slip in the mud.

"Charlie told me," he said, his eyes wandering to the scrunched up sheets on the bed. He found the blood stain and instinctively looked away. "We, er, saw each other at the station..."

"You've met Robbie, then?" she said, and his eyebrows rose. "He's a nice lad."

"I'm sure he is," Charles said.

"If you ask me, I'd say Charlie rather fancies him," she said with a slight chuckle. "And he her—though he's a bit shy..."

He wasn't listening to her. Not fully. His mind still seemed preoccupied. They were both silent for a moment, and then suddenly he turned to her, concern springing to his face. His hands found her upper arms, his thumbs caressing her shoulders. "You... er, are you all right, Elsie? Charlie said you'd fallen earlier?"

"Oh, don't fret over me. I'm all right," she said. "My bum's a bit bruised but..." She stopped quickly, her face growing warm. She should not say such things, not even to him.

But he did not scold her. Instead, he let go of her arms and gently rested his hands firmly on her... She felt something flutter in her stomach as he placed soft kisses on her forehead. If he were to want anything more, though, she would politely decline him; their bed was unmade and it was still daylight outside.

"Elsie...?" he whispered. His hand moved up to her lower back as he bent to place a gentle kiss on her lips.

She hummed her response. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad; they could lock the door, so Charlie or anyone else couldn't barge in on them...

She leaned in to deepen the kiss and he pulled away from her slightly. "Elsie, my dear... I was, er, wondering if we—I mean..." His hands found her own and he squeezed them as he guided her down to sit on their unmade bed. "I feel like we've rushed into some things..."

"You do?" They did. Many things. And it all started thirteen years ago. He moved to touch her thigh.

"I wish we could have done it the proper way is all," he explained. "We couldn't even..." He sighed, looking away. "We saw each other the night and the morning before we married..."

"What?"

"It's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding, Elsie," he told her firmly, turning back to her.

She remembered how he avoided her gaze on the train ride to their nuptials. Elsie assumed it was because he was too angry to look at her, not it being his own way of attempting to uphold tradition. "I would also imagine having the child before the marriage is frowned upon as well."

"You needn't remind me more of my faults, Elsie," he grumbled.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, knowing it would only make him more upset. "They're my faults too, Charlie."

He huffed. "You should have told me, but I shouldn't have..." He shook his head and turned away again, letting go of her thigh. "I start Monday," he said after a moment. "I figure we can pack our things and we'll all go together this weekend." Like one big happy family.

"You didn't go to Downton, then?" Elsie asked him softly. Charlie that morning was convinced he had. And Elsie wasn't too upset over the thought that he might have; she always admired the special relationship he had with the Granthams, especially his blessed Lady Mary. It could be sweet at times. And her visit last night clearly upset him. Charlie said she asked him to go back to Downton with her, and he told her no.

He looked back at her, shock in his eyes. "No, I didn't go to Downton! Elsie, how could you think... I—I wouldn't do that to you or... or to Charlie." She touched his knee. And his hand fit perfectly on top of hers. "You, er, I mean, _we_ should really discuss with Charlie—"

A fierce knock at the door stopped him from saying more. And as he turned to see who it was, Mrs. Lane entered their room. "Now, what are you two doing up here in the middle of the day?" she asked.

Charles quickly stood and mumbled something under his breath. Elsie stood too, feeling like a naughty school girl getting reprimanded by her mother—but her mother was dead and she hadn't done anything wrong. Nothing she could think of.

"Molly, quickly get downstairs and help Jerry in the kitchen," Mrs. Lane continued. "And Gene, put on your good suit. You want to look nice for the king, don't you?"

"The king, Mrs. Lane?" questioned Elsie after sharing a glance with Charles. She had very little faith that King George would ever visit this place.

"Yes, the king, dear," she said. "Hurry, now. There's no time to waste." And she quickly hurried away without another word, leaving the door wide open behind her. Crazy old bat.

Elsie followed Charles out of the room, into the hall and down the stairs where both the princess and the king sat stiffly on Mrs. Lane's old beige sofa. Suddenly Mrs. Lane and her antics made perfect sense. The blessed princess had returned, and she had brought her father, the king, along with her.

He stood when he caught sight of them coming down. "Carson... Mrs. H—Carson" Lord Grantham greeted, looking genuinely relieved to see them both.

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said, this is a quick idea that came to my head. Updates will most likely be quick and short, and perhaps a little grammatically incorrect. Thanks for reading :)


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